


Dominus, Particeps

by QueenOfTheDreamers (QueenOfDreamers)



Series: Conscius [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: BAMF Hermione Granger, F/M, Good Tom Riddle, POV Tom Riddle, Possessive Tom Riddle, Sane Tom Riddle, Tom Riddle's Diary, tomione - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-17
Updated: 2019-11-10
Packaged: 2020-12-20 23:33:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 19
Words: 52,103
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21065015
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/QueenOfDreamers/pseuds/QueenOfTheDreamers
Summary: Sequel to Inimica, Amator. As Tom and Hermione navigate life as newlyweds, Tom's enmity with Walburga Black threatens his ability to ingratiate himself into Pureblood society. Meanwhile, his aspirations at the Ministry of Magic send him soaring upward quickly - too quickly? And Hermione is hardly going to sit back and work a sales job through all of this climbing. Tomione, Tom POV.





	1. Climbing

"_Tom Marvolo Riddle, _if you don't stop right now, I swear I am going to…"

"Do it," he growled against his wife's body, tasting metal and feeling wet warmth surrounding him. He grasped her hips and then let one hand creep up her deliciously flat stomach, grasping at her perfectly-formed breast and squeezing. He toyed with her puckered nipple, flicking a thumb over it. All the while, he lathed his tongue in long drags along her folds and then suckled on her clit. She writhed on the bed, burrowed her hands into his dark waves of thick hair, and cried out, coming hard.

He grunted as he felt her clamping down around his lips and tongue. This felt good. This felt so good and so right. He resisted the temptation to creep into her mind just to feel the explosion of pleasure there. Rule Number One - No Legilimency. He was trying these days to follow that rule better. It only seemed like the right way to begin a marriage, with the mutual respect of according one another mental privacy. So he stayed out of her head almost all the time. Right now, though, he wanted nothing more than to feel the thunk of her climax rattling around in her brain, and he murmured against her thigh,

"Let me in."

"Gah! Fine." Hermione arched her back and seemed to be coming down from her high. Tom petted down her belly and kissed her skin, whispering,

"_Legilimens._"

He felt the white heat of her pleasure, fading to scarlet, then deepening to burgundy. She was thinking about how good that felt, about how she enjoyed little else as much as when Tom used his mouth on her. Nothing in the world felt quite as good as his tongue and lips pleasing her, she was thinking. Tom slipped right out of her head, thinking that he'd felt enough from her to give him what he needed to be pushed over his own edge. He hauled himself up and lined his cock up with her entrance, touching at her abdomen and incanting,

"_Breviter Sterilitatem._"

"Oh. Oh, I'm so sensitive." Hermione hissed as he pushed into her, and he stopped, sheathed to the hilt. He wasn't going to last, anyway. He moved gently, slowly, and as he bent down to put his lips beside Hermione's ear, his breath shook like mad.

"You drive me insane with desire," he informed her. Hermione kissed at his cheek and assured him,

"You're not insane here."

He let out a low rumble of a laugh at that and pumped his hips a few more times. Everything started to tighten up; he'd been so worked up by what he'd done to her with his mouth that he could hardly take the feel of moving inside of her. Suddenly his balls drew up to his body and his cock swelled and went so hard it almost hurt. He huffed and kissed at the skin beside Hermione's ear, and he whispered frantically,

"I love you."

In response, she stroked at his hair with her fingernails and murmured very gently, "You are going to be _everything._"

He lost himself at that, spilling himself as he gasped for air and collapsed a little. The burst of satisfaction came searing and strong, his ears ringing as he saw spots. Tom left his cock inside Hermione until he started to go soft, and then he finally caught his breath and kissed her cheek again. He rolled off of her and mumbled,

"Showers. Work."

"Breakfast," Hermione grumbled. He laughed a little and said,

"I'll go first in the shower, so you can get first crack at the scones in the kitchen."

"Thank you." She stroked his arm a little and hummed, "Wedding this weekend. Hestia Selwyn and Undulus Flint. You can begin again, Tom. Don't let Walburga Black's vicious talk get the better of you."

"Believe me, I fully intend on using the wedding as an opportunity to assert my dominance over Walburga Black." Tom narrowed his eyes. "I've got plans."

Hermione flicked up a brow. "Plans."

"I'm not going to murder anyone." He heaved himself out of the bed. "Just a little embarrassment."

"Tom…" She carried warning in her voice as she followed him out of the bed and did up the blankets with a flick of her wand. "Don't make her trip on her robes in front of everyone or anything like that. Be decent."

"Decent!" Tom stormed into the bathroom and turned on the taps in the shower-bath. He waited for the water to warm and then stepped inside, immediately closing the curtain and beginning to scrub roughly at his skin with cedarwood soap. "Decent? When Walburga Black is going round telling everyone who will listen that the orphaned Half-Blood Tom Riddle is just an aspirational hack with a _Mudblood_ wife obsessed with House-Elves? I'm meant to be decent to her?"

"Please don't do anything rash," Hermione said from out in the bathroom.

"I've thought long and hard about what I'm going to do," Tom said sternly. He scrubbed at his hair and then rinsed it, drizzling some conditioning cream into his locks. He rubbed it through and said, "Abraxas can do far, far better. And I want him as an ally. I won't have him cavorting with Walburga Black. I've got some tricks up my sleeve, Hermione. Do you trust me, or not?"

There was quiet for a long moment, but then Hermione said softly from outside the shower,

"Of course I trust you, Tom. Hurry up, will you? I'm going to go scarf down a scone, and then I'd like a shower. You've got me all filthy."

* * *

"Morning, Tom," said Heraldus Fawley as Tom walked into the Obliviator office. Tom nodded his greeting and said tightly to his boss,

"Mr Fawley."

"I'd like you to come speak to me in my office, if you don't mind." Mr Fawley seemed serious, so Tom hesitated for just a moment. But he followed Mr Fawley toward the other man's dark, vacuous office down a corridor over which a large silver sign read _Obliviator Headquarters. _Mr Fawley shut the office door behind Tom and gestured to an uncomfortable-looking black chair, in which Tom sat. He peered straight into the other man's mind and saw an old man in a Wizengamot uniform. The wizard in the uniform was talking to Mr Fawley, slowly nodding and murmuring something about _that Riddle boy._ Tom frowned.

"As you know, the Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes maintains a seat on the Wizengamot," said Mr Fawley, a narrow-faced man with small round spectacles and a thin black mustache. Tom nodded his understanding. Mr Fawley continued, "Mr Harding, who has held the seat for the department for many years, is retiring his post due to old age and ill health. I spoke with him about the matter yesterday. He is adamant that he won't retire until he's assured it's you to take his place."

Tom's mouth fell open in surprise. His reaction was genuine then as he said simply, "Me, sir?"

"Indeed. He feels the Wizengamot too often consists of elderly witches and wizards who may not have a sufficiently youthful outlook on the welfare of the wizarding world." Mr Fawley pushed his spectacles up the bridge of his nose and sniffed. He shrugged. "He has heard that you are an immensely talented Obliviator, which of course you are. He has heard that you were the most gifted pupil Hogwarts has ever seen, which of course you were. Headmaster Dippet has spoken with Mr Harding about you and could not have recommended you more highly. So, Mr Harding says that he will stay in the Wizengamot, despite his old age and his ill health, until the administration of the Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes agrees to replace him with you."

"Forgive me, Mr Fawley," said Tom, "but you do not seem quite as enthused about me taking Mr Harding's place."

"I fear that there is 'young,' and then there is _too young,_" said Mr Fawley. He scoffed and said, "After all, though we all know you have great talent and aspiration, it isn't as though you're going to be Minister for Magic when you're twenty-five years old, my dear boy."

Tom nodded slowly. "Hmm. No, probably not. But I will promise you this, Mr Fawley. I would consult very, very closely with the administration of the Department as its representative on the Wizengamot. I am made to understand that whilst Mr Harding represented our Department admirably and honourably, he did so with a great deal of independence."

"Yes," Mr Fawley said with caution. He pushed his glasses up his nose again and coughed into a fist. "Yes, there were times when Mr Harding voted in ways that the rest of the Departmental administration disagreed with. In fact, there were times when we advised him strongly to act one way and he ignored us entirely."

"It makes more sense to me - forgive me if I overstep or offend - but it makes sense to have a Departmental representative who is young and therefore recognises the need to listen, to have input from more experienced members of his Ministry Department," Tom said, drumming his fingers on the arm of his chair. "If I were installed in the Wizengamot, Mr Fawley, I would serve as your eyes, your ears, and your mouthpiece. I promise you that."

"Hmm. Quite so." Mr Fawley licked his lips. "Well. I'll speak with the rest of the Department's administration today and voice my consent to the idea. We'll let you know in the next few days. I expect you can await a formal invitation to be initiated into the Wizengamot in Mr Harding's place quite soon. You'll accept, I take it?"

"Very gladly," Tom affirmed, "and very gratefully."

"Right. Well. I'm sure you've a full day of work ahead of you," Mr Fawley said. Tom rose, bowed his head, and murmured respectfully,

"Good day, Mr Fawley."

He wore a broad smirk as he opened Mr Fawley's door and strode out of the office.

* * *

Tom sat on his divan and read the day's copy of the _Daily Prophet, _admiring the special effects used in a full page of advertisements. He liked complex magic, and whomever had come up with the spells for this ad about wizard's hats had done a wonderful job animating the graphics on the page. He studied the newspaper for a long moment and then looked up to gaze at Hermione, who was curled up in an armchair with a thick book and a glass of red wine.

"What are you reading?" he asked her quietly. She jolted, obviously startled away from her task. Porridge jumped, too, from where the cat lay on the back of the chair. She arched her back and yawned, then lay back down on the chair. Hermione held up the book and informed Tom,

"It's a book about ghosts. About how people become ghosts. I've always been so curious, you know, about what happens when you die."

Tom shuddered. "I don't like thinking about death."

She sighed. "I know."

He stared at her for a long moment and told her quietly, "You destroyed all of my Horcruxes in your lived experience. You've never said anything about the ring."

Hermione shut her book and sipped her wine. "What do you want me to say about it?"

"Are you going to try and destroy it?" Tom asked. Hermione narrowed her eyes and whispered,

"No. I am not going to destroy a part of your soul. Not here."

"And the diary?" Tom's voice shook a little. He gulped. He set down the newspaper and rose from the divan. He strode over to the writing desk in the corner of the room and aimed his wand at a locked drawer. He hissed Parseltongue at it, incanting words that would unlock the drawer the same way powerful places like the Chamber of Secrets had been sealed.

"_Kyossanath hyassssassos mithassss._"

The drawer clicked and slid open, and Tom reached into it and pulled out the diary he'd made as his first Horcrux. He held it up to show Hermione, who stared at it and took another sip of wine before saying firmly,

"Put it away and shut the drawer."

"You don't want to stab it with a Basilisk fang?" he asked, almost mockingly. Hermione set her glass of wine down on the little table beside her chair, along with her book, and flew to her feet. She rushed over to Tom and snatched the diary from his hand. He gasped when she tossed it back into the drawer, which she slammed shut.

"Seal it up!" she yelled at him. "Keep it safe! In fact, does this even feel safe to you? A drawer in a desk in your flat? Do you know how hard we had to work to find your Horcruxes? You need to hide this more safely. That's your _soul_ in there, Tom."

He blinked. He couldn't believe she was saying any of this. Wouldn't she want his Horcruxes ruined, to have him returned to a mortal state? Or was she so far gone from her past life that she'd accepted what he'd done? He aimed his wand at the shut drawer and hissed in Parseltongue,

"_Niossabath hyassssassos mithassss._"

The drawer clamped tightly shut, but Hermione railed on,

"Someone could just come here and light that desk up with Fiendfyre, and your diary would be… Tom, you need a better place for it. I don't know where the ring is right now. I don't want to know. Don't tell me."

"You do actually love me, don't you?" he whispered, as if he hadn't believed it until right now. She stared down at the engagement ring he'd put on her hand, at the platinum wedding band he'd put there, and she threw her arms up in frustration. They were interrupted by the sound of an owl tapping on the window, and Hermione rushed over to open it. The owl came hopping inside, and when she untied the envelope at its foot, she breathed,

"This is Professor Dumbledore's writing."

"Open it!" Tom exclaimed.

Hermione hurried to break the seal on the envelope and pulled out a letter inside, which she instantly began to read aloud with a shaking voice.

"_Dear Madam Granger,_

_I write to offer you and Tom my most hearty congratulations and to thank you… for everything. You've no idea the changes that have been wrought by the choices you have made, but rest assured that you are precisely where you ought to be._

_Seek to hear no more from me. I, too, am where I belong._

_Please do give this dear owl some treats. He has come an awfully long way to you._

_Most sincerely,_

_Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore_

**Author's Note: SEQUEL. SEQUEL. SEQUEL! Hello and welcome! If you're here, that means you read (and hopefully enjoyed) **_**Inimica, Amator.**_ **I am so very glad you've decided to join me for Part II. In this novel-length sequel, we will explore Tom's enmity with Walburga Black, his ascent through the Ministry of Magic, and much more. **_**Inimica, Amator**_ **was told entirely from Hermione's POV. This story will be entirely from Tom's POV.**

**Since this story is a sequel and will therefore undoubtedly have lower readership than Part I, every review is valued so very much. I thank you very kindly for reading and for reviewing. Let's go!**


	2. War

Tom Riddle looked around the quiet spot outside of Chiddingstone, Kent, where he'd come to with Apparition. No one had seen him appear, he knew. Just to be safe, he whispered out the spell for Legilimency and began searching for wild-minded Muggles, frantic about having seen a man appear out of thin air. Nothing. No one had seen him come. Good, he thought. He cleared his throat and adjusted his hold on the Conjured leather bag in his hand. It was meant to be filled with Muggle tools, for today he was playing the role of a radio repairman.

He walked up the narrow, winding road past beamed Tudor houses that sat closely beside one another until he reached Number 16. He glanced across the way to Number 24 and huffed a breath. Inside Number 24 lived a wizard called Morton Mexley. The previous day, Mr Mexley had been making home improvements, and he'd quite foolishly used his wand to change the colour of his door from robin's egg blue to scarlet in an instant. Well, his elderly Muggle neighbour had been snooping out her window, and she'd seen. She'd rushed over to Mr Mexley's house and demanded to know how the devil the man had painted his door so swiftly. She'd never seen anything like it, she'd insisted. And, also, where had those rose bushes come from? Had the shutters always looked like that?

Mr Mexley had realised he'd made quite a mess. Intelligently, he'd soothed his neighbour and had managed to Confound her to go back home, but he hadn't felt confident altering the woman's memory. He'd come straight to the Ministry of Magic, where he'd been fined fifty Galleons for breaking the International Statute of Secrecy with such reckless abandon. The Obliviator Squad was quickly notified, and Tom Riddle was put on the case. He'd come first thing this morning after reviewing the file.

Now he cleared his throat and knocked politely on the door of Number 16, grateful for his power with wandless magic. He knew that Mr Fawley was well aware of how easily Tom could perform magic without a wand, and how well it served him in his role as an Obliviator. Tom watched as the lace curtains beside the door peeled back, and an old woman's face peered curiously out. A ginger cat appeared beside her and visibly mewled, and then the old woman moved away from the window and there was a long pause. Tom straightened his Muggle suit jacket and his overcoat and adjusted his fedora atop his head. Finally, the door swung slowly open, and the widowed Mrs Patts said in a voice gravelly from age,

"May I help you, dearie?"

"Mrs Patts, I presume? I'm here to fix your radio. Henson and Sons Repair Services," Tom said lightly. Mrs Patts looked a little bemused. Tom cast a quick wandless Confundus Charm, and Mrs Patts vibrated where she stood. Her eyes glazed over, and she said in a softer voice,

"Oh, of course. Yes, I can't get the damned thing to tune to my favourite station. Please do come in and fix it."

"No problem at all, Mrs Patts." Tom pulled his hat off as he stepped into the little Tudor house. He gestured to the brown velvet divan in the parlour to the left, near the large radio. "I'll only be a few moments."

"Would you care for a cup of tea, dearie?" Mrs Patts asked, but Tom flashed her a little smile and said,

"I'm fine. Thank you." He turned to the radio as Mrs Patts sat down on the divan. Her ginger cat hopped up alongside her. Tom let out a steadying breath and then reached into his overcoat, pulling out his wand. He turned around and aimed the wand straight at Mrs Patts, murmuring gently, "_Obliviate._"

He rotated the wand, and as he did, he plucked out the memory of her seeing Morton Mexley attending to his house. He viewed the images of Mrs Patts' confusion, of the newly-painted door and the altered bushes and shutters. Then he erased all of it, as though the day had never happened. He replaced it with a frustrating memory of trying to get the radio to work, then putting in a phone call to a repair serviceman to come fix the device. Soon enough, Mrs Patts was swaying gently on the divan, and Tom tucked his wand away. He smiled a little and turned the dial on the radio to a station playing opera music.

"All better," he said. Mrs Patts clapped her hands and said,

"You sure you won't stay for a cuppa, dearie? What do I owe you?"

"You've already paid, Mrs Patts; your cheque went through yesterday with my boss," Tom said reassuringly. Mrs Patts frowned but then asked,

"Did you fight in the war, dearie?"

Tom hesitated. He pinched his lips and then said, "I was just a little too young."

"Oh. Heroes all, those brave young men. But I'm glad you didn't have to go. Glad you stayed safe, dearie," Mrs Patts said. Tom nodded crisply and asked,

"Might I use your lavatory on my way out, Mrs Patts? If you don't mind?"

"Yes, of course, dear. It's just under the stairs." Mrs Patts gestured behind her. Tom walked away then, and as he turned, he cast another Confundus Charm. This time, he convinced Mrs Patts that he'd walked out the door already and that she'd bid him farewell. He Disapparated from her corridor, silently as a wraith, and came to inside the Atrium of the Ministry of Magic.

Tom stalked over to the bank of lifts and walked right into one of the great brass elevators. He pressed the button for the Third Level, where the Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes was located. The lift rocketed downward, and when Tom stalked out, he made his way through the Department and to the Obliviator Headquarters. He went into his little office and stripped off his overcoat, Banishing it to the hook by the door. He sat and pulled out the file on Mrs Patts, detailing her Obliviation. He was mostly finished when there was a knocking on his office door, and he called out,

"Enter."

The office door opened, and Mr Fawley appeared, pushing up his spectacles and pinching the ends of his thin mustache nervously. He stepped into Tom's office and passed over a scroll, which Tom could instantly see was bound up with the Ministry of Magic seal and a thick cord of black ribbon. Tom knew what this was, but he tried to conceal his enthusiasm. He coolly took the scroll from Mr Fawley and asked,

"Will you sit, sir?"

"I'm not staying long," Mr Fawley replied. "Go ahead and open it, boy."

Tom cracked the seal on the scroll and began to read the neat script inside.

_FROM THE OFFICE OF MINISTER FOR MAGIC LEONARD SPENCER-MOON_

_Dear Mr Riddle,_

_I write to formally invite you to replace Mr Xavier Harding as the Wizengamot representative for the Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes. As you know, Mr Harding has decided to retire, and at his insistence and upon the warm recommendation of many others, I as Minister for Magic have determined that you are most suited to replace him._

_If you choose to accept the position, you will be sworn into the Wizengamot in a formal gowning ceremony with vows this Thursday next at noon. Naturally, your wife is more than welcome to attend the ceremony._

_If you decide to be sworn into the Wizengamot, you should expect to hear from the Daily Prophet wanting comment. We would expect that any comment you make be wholly complimentary of the Ministry of Magic and the Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes._

_Kindly respond to my office with your response on this matter by the end of the day._

_Sincerely,_

_Minister for Magic Leonard Spencer-Moon_

Tom smiled at Mr Fawley and folded his hands on his desk after setting the scroll aside.

"I must thank you, Mr Fawley," he said, "for recommending me for the job."

"Oh, my dear boy," Mr Fawley said, shaking his head, "It was the general consensus that you were the right one to take Mr Harding's place. My voice was but one of many."

Tom nodded and took out a piece of parchment. He dipped a quill into a pot of ink and began to write at once.

_Dear Minister Spencer-Moon,_

_It is with immense humility and deepest gratitude that I happily accept the opportunity to represent my Department in the Wizengamot. I vow to speak for the interests and needs of the Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes and to serve the magical community at large. I shall make the wizarding world proud - I do promise you that. I look forward to the swearing-in next Thursday._

_Warm regards,_

_Tom Riddle_

* * *

It was the day of the wedding between Hestia Selwyn and Undulus Flint, and once again Hermione had managed to look so pretty that Tom could hardly stand to look at her. She, quite simply, left him bereft of breath. His pulse flew like the wings of a manic bird when he looked upon her.

She was wearing black velvet tonight, a form-fitting gown with long sleeves and a slit up one leg. There was golden metal work around the high neckline and down around the shoulders of the gown. It wasn't traditional in the way most Purebloods dressed. She looked almost fierce, with her hair tied up in a tight, sleek bun at the back of her head, wearing violently scarlet lipstick and thick black eyeliner.

"Did you… did you make this gown yourself?" Tom asked her as he stood tying up his bow tie. She smirked at him and tossed up her hands.

"This was a very simple second-hand look I bought at the resale shop," she said, "but I did all the alterations myself. What do you think?"

"I think that you are absolutely marvelous," he said honestly. "And your ability to stay frugal, yet stylish, to make yourself so beautiful without tossing Galleons left and right… Hermione…"

He gulped and turned away from her, feeling like he wasn't quite in control of himself around her right now. She took a few steps closer to him, though, and when she neared, she smelled like rose and vanilla. Tom was wearing tuxedo robes, and Hermione dragged her fingers around his black waistcoat and then up to straighten his tie.

"You are going to make all the witches at the wedding want you, looking this handsome," she said rather darkly. "I'm going to have to beat the other witches off with spells. I'm going to have to claim you."

He laughed. "You're so pretty, I'll be the one doing the claiming."

She pulled him down for a kiss then, and he realised her lipstick was enchanted to stay. He deepened the kiss and pressed his lips to hers, letting his tongue creep between her teeth and suckling on her lip a little. Suddenly they were Disapparating; she was taking him by Side-Along as they kissed and kissed. He laughed against her mouth as they whipped through the pinching black void and came to on a grassy lawn, lips still locked. He pulled back and looked up to see the stately manor of Selwyn House, and he smiled down at Hermione. She shrugged and blinked slowly. He held out an arm, and as she laced her hand through his elbow, he thought of the times he'd guided her into Pureblood events when she had desperately wanted to be anywhere else - when she hadn't wanted to be with him.

Things were different now.

"You said you had plans," Hermione said as they approached the house. "You still haven't told me what those plans are."

"You'll have to wait and see," Tom teased. Hermione did not look amused as they climbed the stairs up to the front doors.

"What are you going to do, Tom Riddle?"

"You'll have to wait and see," he said again. Before she could argue, he led her into the house and then off to the left, where the ceremony had been set up in an enormous pumpkin-coloured parlour with dark wood paneling. Tom noticed that Hermione was flashing little smiles to people they knew - the Lestranges, Priscilla Rosier - but no one was smiling back.

"They… do not like me," Hermione noted in a hiss. Tom scowled.

"They will learn to like you."

He guided her to a seat in the fifth row and coughed quietly into his fist. No one was greeting him, either. They were being mostly ignored. He didn't like it. It was uncomfortable. Well, he thought, as soon as the news broke that he'd been made the youngest current member of the Wizengamot, people would want a lot more to do with him.

"Tom," Hermione said, and then, as if she were the Legilimens and not him, she whispered, "Once they hear about… you know, your new _position…_"

"Yes, they'll all want a piece of me then," Tom said, clearing his throat. "Right now, we're just interlopers. No matter. I'm here on a mission."

To that end, he narrowed his eyes at Abraxas Malfoy, who was standing beside Walburga Black. Tom nonverbally, wandlessly cast a Confundus Charm upon Abraxas Malfoy, and suddenly Abraxas was no longer interested in the conversation he was having with Walburga. He abruptly turned away and began speaking to Perla Parkinson, who was to his left. Perla, a petite girl with pretty dark curls, smiled at Abraxas, her wide eyes rapt. Tom knew Hermione was watching when she leaned over and asked,

"So you're going to make him flirt with Perla? That's your revenge?"

"I'm going to make him do more than that," Tom growled. He listened then, and he heard Abraxas say, as though drunk,

"You look lovely tonight, Perla."

"Thank you, Mr Malfoy!" Perla exclaimed. Walburga Black looked like she was going to vomit. Hermione snorted out a little sound from beside Tom, and he knew why. Try as she might to be _good_, Hermione Granger had been wronged and hurt by Walburga Black. She'd been called a Mudblood over and over by Walburga's portrait in her lived experience, and now, in this world, Walburga was going behind Hermione's back and calling her a Mudblood all over again, ruining her chances to advance S.P.E.W., badmouthing Tom. Hermione was out for blood just as much as Tom was, he knew.

Now Walburga looked absolutely horrified as Abraxas just kept flirting and laughing with Perla Parkinson, who looked pleased as punch.

The ceremony began then, so everyone had to go quiet. Hestia Selwyn was plump and plain, but that didn't seem to matter, seeing as how Undulus Flint looked and acted like someone had hit him in the head with a sack full of bricks. The two of them stumbled through their vows, awkward, laughing at inappropriate moments. Everyone sang the traditional wizarding wedding song. Hermione still didn't know it, Tom realised. She wasn't of this world. Well, neither was Tom. Not really. He reached for her hand, looking around the room and thinking to himself that neither of them were Purebloods, neither of them were members of the Sacred Twenty-Eight. No matter how much climbing he did, that much would never change. Neither of them truly fit into this room.

After the ceremony, everyone moved into the ballroom, which was stodgy and not as impressive as the grand ones at Malfoy Manor and other great houses. There wasn't enough space to have tables for a full meal, so instead they served hors d'oeuvres and drinks and had dancing. Mr Selwyn gave a toast where he began to cry, which made everyone shift on their feet as they wished the speech would just end. Finally the Selwyn girl and Flint boy cut their cake and did the first dance, and the partying really went into full swing.

Hermione was making up a plate of sausages, cheese, and a croissant for herself, so Tom stood nearby and stared at Walburga Black. He nonverbally, wandlessly cast an Odious Jinx upon her. Now she'd smell like rotting flesh, her skin would have had pimples spring up upon it, and her breath would be foul. Her teeth would be brown. She'd be generally unappealing.

"Tom… what are you doing?" Hermione walked over and handed a plate of food to Tom. He gratefully accepted it and sighed.

"I told you I had plans for the witch who destroyed your S.P.E.W. gala. For the witch who denigrates you as a Muggle-born, for the witch you -"

"I get the picture. Please don't let it get out of hand." Hermione chewed on a sausage. Tom took a bite of cheese and sniffed.

"Let's eat and then dance."

He reinforced his Confundus Charm upon Abraxas Malfoy, watching as the blond-haired young wizard led Perla Parkinson out onto the dance floor. Walburga looked on in horror, but Tom just ate and watched Abraxas contentedly flirt with Perla.

"She seems overjoyed," Hermione noted, and he knew she meant Perla. He nodded. Perla genuinely liked Abraxas Malfoy, he thought. She wasn't under the influence of a Confundus Charm. She was enraptured by the blond wizard dancing with her. Walburga Black stood seething. Avery walked up to her and seemed like he was about to ask her to dance, but then he recoiled away and looked disgusted.

"Tom," Hermione said again, warning in her voice, "what did you do?"

"She's just a bit foul," Tom noted. "Now others will notice that about her, too. Dance with me, will you?"

He led Hermione right by Walburga Black as they went out to the dance floor. Walburga scowled at them, and Hermione made a revolted sound. Tom knew why. Walburga smelled of death. She was absolutely disgusting right now, he thought. She smelled like someone who hadn't bathed in two months. He could have sworn there were little flies buzzing around her.

"Tom Marvolo Riddle." Hermione let him sweep her into a dancing stance once they were far away from Walburga. "You are terrible."

"Tell me this, Hermione," Tom said rather sharply. "The Lord Voldemort you knew, the one who had a grey, bald head and no nose and red eyes… what would he have done with someone like Walburga Black who was displeasing him?"

Hermione's face went very serious as they began to dance. "He would have killed her."

"Precisely," Tom nodded. "So I think Walburga ought to count herself as very lucky that she's taken nothing more than an Odious Jinx and that Abraxas Malfoy's attentions have been turned elsewhere. Now, as regards that."

He glanced over to Abraxas and cast a fresh Confundus Charm. Suddenly Abraxas was bending down, and Tom knew that he was whispering to Perla Parkinson that they should go find an empty parlour and snog. Perla was grinning and nodding, and Abraxas was leading her off the dance floor. Hermione frowned up at Tom.

"You're coercing him," she complained.

Tom rolled his eyes. "Shall I lift the charm and let them figure it out for themselves? I promise you, they're quite fond of each other."

"Then let them do it on their own," Hermione insisted. Tom raised his eyebrows but let his gaze trail to where Abraxas was leaving the room. He lifted the Confundus Charm, and for a moment, Abraxas seemed confused. But then he seemed to realise just what he was doing, and he smiled and led Perla out of the room. Tom turned back to Hermione and gave her a smug look.

"And Walburga?" she asked.

"I'd rather leave her smelling and decaying until she figures out she's been Jinxed," Tom said.

"She'll know it was you," Hermione warned him. "Once she realises someone Jinxed her, she'll think it was you or me. This will become a war between all of us. Is that what you want?"

Tom's cheeks went hot. He hissed down to Hermione, "I want her ruined. I want her destroyed for what she's done to us."

Hermione huffed a breath. "You're just opening doors and not shutting them behind you, Tom."

"Fine. Let me shut some doors, then." He glanced to Walburga Black and cast a wandless Confundus Charm upon her, feeling like he was the king of this spell these days. He coerced Walburga to walk right up to Neptunus Malfoy, Abraxas' father, and she put her hands on her hips. She was talking loudly and angrily, and Hermione stopped dancing to demand,

"What is she saying?"

"She's confessing to Neptunus that she and Abraxas have had sexual intercourse five times, and that she thought Abraxas was going to propose marriage to her. She's expressing anger that Abraxas is off snogging someone else given that Walburga's given Abraxas her body. All of that's true, by the way; she just never meant for Neptunus to know."

"Tom." Hermione touched at her forehead and whispered, "You can't just go -"

"Killing people? No, probably not, which is why I'm doing this instead," he murmured. Neptunus Malfoy sipped his wine and said something quietly to Walburga, who was suddenly being hauled away in hysterics by her parents. She was making quite a scene, Tom thought. Everyone would notice that she'd smelled of death and was screaming about having shagged Abraxas Malfoy. The room went quiet as Walburga was led out of the ballroom.

"He's _mine!_" she was yelling. "Abraxas is _mine!_"

"_Finite Incantatem,_" Tom said softly. Then he put his hands back on Hermione as murmured conversations started back up in the ballroom, and he gave her a serious look. "I told you I wanted her destroyed. You said no murder. I'm trying to listen to you."

"Oh, well, thanks for not killing her," Hermione said sarcastically, but suddenly he felt an insistent thought from her head. He tried not to listen; he tried to stay out of her mind. But the thought was too pressing.

_Somehow, it feels like Jinxing people is making great progress. I shouldn't be upset with him. I should be proud of him._

"Do you love me?" Tom asked, and Hermione sighed and nodded.

"Very much," she promised.

"Then dance with me," he said, "and come home with me to our flat and make love to me. And on Thursday, come watch me be sworn into the Wizengamot. The climb starts now, and no one stands in the way."

He leaned forward and kissed her forehead, and then they began to move to the music.

**Author's Note: Oh, my. So Tom's still got a serious Dark streak, but he's just a little less… murdery… than the Lord Voldemort we all know and love/hate. But there's no way Walburga's going to just accept defeat here, right? And what about Abraxas? Next up, the Wizengamot.**

**Thank you so very much to those who reviewed the first chapter. I'm so glad there are people excited for this sequel. Please do drop a review if you get a quick moment.**


	3. Wizengamot

On Thursday morning, Tom awoke to the smell of food cooking. He blinked his eyes open and was suddenly taken back to Wool's Orphanage. He wasn't sure quite why his mind took him there, why his head went back to that awful place. But there he was, as he lay staring at the window, thinking of his little cot in his cell of a room, his stomach grumbling after an evening 'meal' of watery soup and hard bread. He thought of plain porridge for breakfast, of the way people would come and eye him like common livestock until he was about six years old and became too old to be considered for adoption. Tom pushed himself up onto his elbow and rubbed at his eye, yawning the night away and calling out to the kitchen,

"Did you tell Mr Burke you weren't coming in today?"

"Yes. He's very excited for you," Hermione yelled back. She was still cooking; he could hear and smell meat sizzling. His stomach growled, and as he pulled himself out of the bed, he reached for his wand and decided to be quick about getting himself ready this morning. He flicked his wand at the bed, casting a nonverbal Neatening Charm so that the sheets and blankets put themselves to rights, and then he wrenched off his pyjama trousers and stalked naked over to his wardrobe.

He dragged his wand up and down his nude form, muttering spells to cleanse his body so that he didn't need a shower. He Scoured himself, then Freshened his hair. He used magic to scrub his teeth and tongue clean and cast a Peppermint Fresh Charm upon his breath, then dressed in a simple pair of black woolen trousers and a crisp white dress shirt. He tied a black silk tie around his neck, knotting it expertly. He walked into the bathroom and rolled on Dry All Day beneath his arms before tucking his shirt into his trousers. He combed a bit of Sleekeazy's through his dark waves and then decided he looked sufficiently professional to be received into the Wizengamot.

He walked out of the bedroom to find Hermione doling out bangers, tomatoes, fried potatoes, and eggs onto two plates. His stomach grumbled again, and he confessed,

"This looks very good."

"You need to be at your best," Hermione said, "if you're to become the youngest seated member of the Wizengamot."

"Are you proud of me?" Tom pulled out a chair and sat, folding his hands on the table before the plate of food she set before him. She poured a glass of pumpkin juice for him, and as she sat across from him, she whispered,

"Oh, yes. I'm very proud of you."

"Really?" He cocked up an eyebrow. "You're not… you don't feel…"

"Tom," Hermione said, seeming to carefully consider her words, "In the life I lived before, you climbed ruthlessly. You destroyed everything in your way. And you failed. You died. It didn't even work, the way you did things. My sincerest hope is that you will become a very powerful wizard through more legitimate means. I wish nothing for you but success."

"And we're together, you and I," he reminded her. Her eyes visibly watered. She looked very pretty in a long-sleeved burgundy velvet dress, and she whispered,

"We are together. I am precisely where I ought to be, and you are choosing all the right things. And I am very proud of you. Now. Eat up. Long day ahead."

* * *

"Right." Tom huffed as he adjusted the hem of his black outer robe. He cleared his throat and stared down at Hermione where they stood outside the Wizengamot chamber. "Ready?"

"Ready," she said firmly. "Let's go in."

"Just this way, Mr Riddle," said the Scribe, a scraggly young wizard with strawberry blond hair. He opened the door to the chamber and let Tom and Hermione walk in. Hermione went first, and Tom followed. There was applause, scattered but relatively enthusiastic, and then the booming Scottish voice of the Chief Warlock, Seoras MacDougal.

"Welcome, Tom Marvolo Riddle. And welcome, Madam Hermione Granger. Please, Madam Granger, if ye will take a seat in the gallery."

Tom squeezed at Hermione's hand and flashed her a little smile, watching as she climbed the stairs into the place where others had gathered to watch Tom's initiation. He saw Arden Colporter, the noted reporter for the _Daily Prophet, _along with members of the Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes. Nott and Avery had come. Reynard and Odessa Lestrange were seated beside Drusilla Rosier and Cygnus Black III. Abraxas Malfoy was beside Cygnus, and a few rows back, looking solemn and skulking, was Walburga Black. Tom narrowed his eyes and peered into her head with Legilimency.

_Damned Mudblood-loving orphan thinks he can just clamour over the rest of us. Thinks he can just climb right up the ladder, doesn't he?_

Tom slid out of Walburga's head and sighed. So he wasn't finished with her yet, then. There was more to be done regarding Walburga. She was an enemy at large. But Tom couldn't allow Walburga to put a damper on his Wizengamot initiation. He turned up to Chief Warlock Seoras MacDougal and called up to the podium,

"Chief Warlock MacDougal, what a tremendous honour and privilege it is to be called to be a part of this ancient and sacred organisation."

"Tom Marvolo Riddle," said a witch to the left of MacDougal, a witch Tom instantly recognised as Clessa Selwyn. She was easily a hundred and fifty years old, but she spoke clearly and deliberately, with little shake in her voice. "You have been summoned to take the place of Mr Xavier Harding. As I'm sure you are well aware, Mr Harding served this chamber admirably, with courage and conviction. We, the members of the Wizengamot, do ask you - are you prepared to uphold Mr Harding's legacy, to continue his dedication to justice and law?"

"I am very much prepared to honour Mr Harding and to serve the law completely," Tom said, almost sternly. The wizard to Clessa Selwyn's left, a stooped old wizard that Tom didn't recognise, bleated out,

"You're awfully young. How can we be assured that your youth won't hinder you, boy?"

Tom shifted on his feet and folded his hands before him. "Dear witches and wizards of the Wizengamot… I come before you ready to listen and learn, with humility in my heart. I am fully prepared to apprentice myself to you, to prostrate myself before your experience, whilst serving as the voice of the Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes. I am but a servant. I serve my Ministry Department. I serve the Ministry of Magic. I serve the wizarding world at large. I serve all witches and wizards, all Beasts and Beings. Whether I am young or old is, I think, inconsequential. I am fully ready to commit myself to the duties entrusted to me, sir."

The wizard seemed very satisfied with that response. Madam Selwyn also seemed extraordinarily pleased. A little ripple of applause worked its way around the gathering of plum-robed Wizengamot members, and then the Chief Warlock held up his hand to gain silence again.

"Then it is time for you to take your vows. Tom Marvolo Riddle," said Seoras MacDougal, "do you swear henceforth to satisfy the demands of your Wizengamot membership, to serve the magical community to your fullest capability, and to uphold the rule of wizarding law?"

"I do so swear," Tom promised. There was more applause then, and MacDougal aimed his wand at Tom. There was a pulse of magic between the wand and Tom's body, and the applause grew as a glow of golden light filled the chamber. Suddenly Tom looked down to see that he was wearing a plum-coloured robe just like the other members of the Wizengamot. He felt the four-cornered hat of the Wizengamot uniform upon his head, and he reached up to touch at it. He smirked a little, bowed his head, and murmured,

"Thank you, Chief Warlock."

He flicked his eyes up to see that Hermione was swiping away tears. She nodded vigorously at him and clapped her hands right along with everyone else. All of a sudden, Tom found himself wanting her very badly. He wanted to kiss her, to touch her. He wanted to show her how much she had to do with all of this. He wouldn't be here if it weren't for her; he'd be working in Borgin and Burkes. Did she know that? Did she realise that? He was going to make her realise that.

He glanced around to see that the Lestranges and Druella and Cygnus and even Abraxas seemed lost to emotion. Avery and Nott were cheering vociferously. Arden Colporter was scribbling madly in her notebook. Walburga Black just sulked in the back of the chamber. Tom didn't even need to look into her head to know what she was thinking. Walburga suddenly glared daggers at Hermione, and Tom panicked for a half second, thinking Walburga might do something to harm Hermione. He wandlessly Confounded Walburga to leave Hermione alone, to stop perseverating so hard about the other witch. He made her want to stand up and leave, and then Walburga stood up and walked out of the chamber. As she stalked away, Tom was swamped.

He first had to take photographs for the _Daily Prophet_, once by himself and then with the Chief Warlock. Tom insisted on taking a photograph with his wife, though he got the impression they weren't going to use that one. Undoubtedly, he'd appear in the newspaper with Seoras MacDougal. That was fine; it would just make him look all the younger and more successful to appear beside the ancient, successful Chief Warlock.

"Mr Riddle," said Arden Colporter, yanking Tom away from a conversation with a few members of the Wizengamot, "may I ask you a few questions?"

"Yes, of course," Tom nodded, curling up his lips. "Mrs Colporter, isn't it?"

"Quite so." The witch cleared her throat and pressed the nib of her self-inking quill to her notebook. "How does it feel to be the youngest sitting member of the Wizengamot?"

"I feel that an injection of youth into this chamber will be a healthy experience for everyone involved," Tom said carefully, "though of course the Wizengamot has done a marvelous job over the past difficult years. The loss of Albus Dumbledore has dealt the chamber a serious blow. Mr Harding's retirement leaves a huge gap. I can only hope that I manage to fulfil the expectations -"

"You're not really answering my question," Arden teased. She tipped her head and asked, "Do you like your job as an Obliviator?"

"Oh, very much," Tom said, though of course he had much higher aspirations than working in the Obliviation Squad. "It's a privilege to protect the Statute of Secrecy. Keeping our world separate and protected is a duty I do not take lightly. I do the best work I can."

"You are very good at being evasive," Arden said breathlessly. "Tell me more about your wife, Hermione Granger. Nobody knows anything about her."

Tom froze. He cleared his throat roughly and then told the lie that they'd agreed upon. "My wife's magic is self-taught. She never attended school. She had Muggle parents who refused to acknowledge her abilities; they died in the Blitz. She was spared becoming an Obscurial by receiving a wand. She is absolutely brilliant. She works at Borgin and Burkes now. I met her there before I became employed at the Ministry of Magic. I consider myself the luckiest wizard on Earth."

He smiled a little at Arden, who blinked quickly and said, "My goodness. You speak so highly of her."

"Yes, well. She's extraordinary," Tom said plainly. He stared beyond Arden to where Hermione was chatting with the Chief Warlock and Madam Selwyn. Odessa Lestrange was with them. Hermione seemed to be having a diplomatic conversation, and she appeared to be holding her own. But Tom _wanted_ her. He wanted her badly.

"Is that all you need, Mrs Colporter?" he asked, and Arden tapped her paper with her quill.

"Yes. Congratulations, Mr Riddle."

Tom nodded at her and brushed by, making his way to his wife.

* * *

"Tom!" Hermione exclaimed as they stumbled backward into the bedroom. "You'll crumple your brand-new Wizengamot robes."

"Ugh. Fine." He pulled away from kissing her for just long enough to strip off the plum coloured robe and hat and Banish them to his wardrobe. He began ripping off clothes as quickly as he could then, letting his black thin robe fall to the ground and yanking at his tie. It joined his robe on the ground as his fingers fumbled with the buttons of his white dress shirt. He watched as Hermione more languorously stripped off her burgundy velvet dress, revealing a matching set of black brassiere and knickers. He growled, low and visceral, as he shoved his trousers down and kicked off his shoes.

"Hermione, I _need_ you," he whispered. She raised her eyebrows and hummed,

"Got yourself a bit worked up, have you? Becoming a big powerful Wizengamot -"

"No. It's _you_," he huffed. "Don't you understand?"

He stalked naked toward her and wrapped one arm around her back, floundering with the clasp until it came loose and the bra fell forward. He ripped it off of her and threw it toward the pile of clothes, and he demanded,

"Don't you understand that, if it weren't for you, I'd still be working at Borgin and Burkes? That I'd go to the Continent and then follow the wrong path and eventually lie dead as a defeated, despised husk of a man? Instead, I'm the youngest member on the Wizengamot. Because of you, Hermione."

"It's not because of me," she said softly. "It's because you're brilliant, Tom, and you -"

"Stop that," he snapped. He grasped her breast roughly in one hand and then declared, "I need to worship these right now."

"Wh-what?" Hermione seemed taken aback. But Tom was on fire for her; he'd come completely alive. His cock was fully tumescent, hard as a rock and almost painfully throbbing. He pushed her toward the bed and whispered down onto her mouth,

"I need to kiss and touch your breasts. Quite a lot."

"All… all right." Hermione seemed surprised, but she didn't object as he encouraged her to lie on her back. He moved to kneel between her legs, noticing that she still had knickers on, and he reached down to hook his fingers into the waistband. He dragged them down over her hips, and she wriggled out of them. He touched his hand to her lower abdomen and shut his eyes, whispering rather frantically,

"_Breviter Sterilitatem._"

He wasn't going to enter her, not yet, but he wanted to be prepared. He let his cock brush along her clit for a moment as he reached up and began to palm both of her breasts. He cupped them and squeezed just enough to feel the tissue compress beneath his fingers, and then he bent down and kissed the skin along her collarbone. He kissed right between her breasts, then whispered onto her skin,

"I need you."

"Tom." Hermione tangled her fingers into his hair and tightened them a bit, just enough that it actually hurt, and he grunted his approval. He kissed the swell of one breast, dragging his lips over the skin there, as his other hand massaged her. He let his lips trail down until he latched onto a nipple, and he lathed his tongue over it carefully. He used long, flat strokes, feeling her perk up beneath him, and then he suckled a little. She writhed beneath him, her fingers cinching again in his hair. He could hardly breathe now. She'd lit him on fire; his veins were searing. He sucked her nipple for another long moment, dragging it between his lips and releasing it with a little _pop_. His other hand cupped and squeezed at the opposite breast, and as he moved over there, Hermione whispered,

"I'm going to come."

"Liar," Tom laughed against the soft skin of her cleavage, but then she whispered desperately,

"Break Rule Number One, Tom."

"_Legilimens,_" he incanted, dragging her nipple into his mouth and suckling. He was gentle at first, until he felt the explosion of heat in Hermione's head. She was pulsating just as wantonly as he was. He reached between them with his free hand and felt that she was drenched and swollen - so ready for him, ready to come. He twisted two fingers into her slowly and began to draw circles on her nub with his thumb, and as he sucked harder on her nipple, he felt everything inside her head burst like a firework.

Blaring noise echoed through her headspace as light shone brightly in her thoughts. She felt good. She felt so good. She was clamping around Tom's fingers. She was arching her back, pushing her breast harder against his mouth. She was wrenching at his hair. He was going to come all over her if he didn't enter her _right now._

He released her breast and pulled back, flipping her over as quickly as he possibly could. Hermione groaned rather loudly when he pushed her onto her stomach, compressing her onto the mattress by the small of her back. He kept her legs together, keeping her entrance tight, and he thrust into her body in one fluid push. She gripped at the pillows and screamed into one at the feel of how deeply he was pushing. He couldn't help his speed or his depth now. He was moving like a machine, unable to keep from plundering her. This felt too good. She was too snug, too warm, too wet, too _Hermione_ for him to stop. So he didn't stop. He just thrust and thrust until he could hardly breathe, gripping her backside so tightly he reckoned she'd have little bruises there in the shapes of his fingertips.

Finally, he spilled himself inside of her, gasping and letting out a few guttural sounds as he did. The room went quiet then, except for their panting breaths, and finally Tom let his cock slide out of her body. He'd long since drawn himself out of her mind, but he wondered what she was thinking now. He flopped onto the bed beside her, so exhausted he could have fallen asleep for the night right then. He cast a forearm over his eyes and whispered,

"I need you."

"You've got me," Hermione soothed him, kissing at his sweaty forehead. She put her lips beside his ear and whispered, "You are going to be so very powerful, and you're going to do it the right way. And we are together, you and I. I am meant to be here. I was sent here to be with you, Tom. So here I am. With you."

He let out a very long breath then, and finally he let his arm down and turned his face towards her. He stared at Hermione's honey-coloured eyes and said,

"I told the _Daily Prophet_ about you today. I was a very proud husband."

"Very proud of a made-up life story," Hermione said gruffly. "Just the same, I appreciate it. I do rather wish people could genuinely appreciate what I can do."

"I mean to give you many opportunities to show what you can do," Tom said firmly. "You're going to have a lot of influence, and you're going to do many powerful things, too."

"Is that so?" Hermione's eyes looked a little sad. She whispered quietly, "Shepherd."

Tom chewed his lip. He'd seen it in her head, weeks before… the newspaper article that she'd been shown on their wedding day. Tom would be the Minister for Magic, and they would have a baby boy called Shepherd. It wouldn't happen for a few years, but there would be an ascent between now and then. Hermione, according to the newspaper article, would become the Head of the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures. So she'd have to leave Borgin and Burkes soon and get into the Ministry, Tom thought. He'd need to use his influence in the Wizengamot to secure her a position somewhere at the Ministry. He could do that.

"Walburga Black is still a threat," he said rather abruptly, thinking back to the way the witch had skulked during his initiation. Hermione pinched her lips and said,

"Odessa Lestrange told me that nobody can stop talking about Walburga's so-called _meltdown._"

"Yes, well, Walburga was sitting in the Wizengamot thinking some very unsavoury things about us," Tom said. "She needs to be properly taken care of, Hermione."

Hermione tipped her head and said desperately, "Please don't stain your soul again with murder, Tom. Not when it's so very unnecessary."

"I have another idea," he said. "A memory wipe. It'll land her in St Mungo's. People will think she's gone mad."

"You mean like what happened to Professor Lockhart in the Chamber of Secrets?" Hermione asked, looking sceptical. Tom shrugged.

"I don't much care about the Lockhart fellow. I'm worried about Walburga Black and the threat she poses. Listen. I need you to do it."

"Me?" Hermione sat up quickly, revealing her naked torso. "Why me?"

"Because," Tom said calmly, "Wizengamot members' wands are inspected regularly to be certain we're upholding the law. I could use your wand, but for something as complicated as a complete memory wipe… and you've got experience."

"Tom." Hermione huffed and lay back down. "I don't want to hurt another person like that."

"She was thinking of me as a _Mudblood-loving orphan,_" Tom said sharply, "and she's out to destroy us, Hermione."

"But… but… Sirius Black," Hermione said quietly, touching her hands to her face. "I'll cause an Un-Birth; Sirius won't be born, and I -"

"Hermione," Tom said quite sharply, pulling her hands away from her face and kissing her lips softly. "Please do this for me. I don't like to beg, but I'll beg you now if you make me do it."

She was silent for a very long time, until at last she growled and exclaimed, "Yes, all right! Fine! Somehow, I'll need to be in the same place as Walburga Black with the ability to Obliviate her. We'll need to work out the logistics. But I'll do it, Tom. For you."

"For us," he said quite confidently. "Because we're together."

She shot him a rather nasty look then and shook her head. "Congratulations again, Mr Riddle," she said, "on beginning your climb. Just do try not to pull me down as you ascend, will you?"

**Author's Note: Uh-oh. Walburga's in for the Lockhart treatment. How is Hermione going to manage to pull that one off? And for how much longer will she be working at Borgin and Burkes? Will Tom be able to get her a Ministry position? And who's ready for some adorkable Avery and Nott friendship time?**

**Thank you SO VERY MUCH for reading and reviewing.**


	4. Obliviate

Tom pulled out Hermione's chair for her at the small dining table in his flat. Hermione sat and flashed him a little smile. Tom glanced at the plates of food she'd put before them, and he noted,

"This looks delicious. You're more than a fair cook."

"It's just roast chicken, mashed potato, and asparagus. Hardly anything gourmet," Hermione laughed. "I learnt to cook from my mother first, and then with magic from Molly Weasley. There's nothing to it, really."

"Well, I'm sure it doesn't feel like there's much to it for a witch as skilled as you," Tom murmured, sitting down and sawing into his chicken. He took a bite, made a happy little noise, and then sipped his dry white wine. He took another bite of chicken and then said,

"Walburga Black is a threat because she won't stop thinking about you being Muggle-born. She won't stop thinking about me being an _aspirational Half-Blood orphan._"

"I understand that Walburga Black is a threat, Tom," Hermione nodded. She spooned some potato into her mouth and swallowed. "I understand that she's a problem."

"I worry," Tom said softly, cutting a spear of asparagus and chewing it before continuing, "that if I use your wand to Obliviate Walburga, something will go wrong. Wands are meant for their owners. I'm a powerful wizard, Hermione, but completely wiping someone's memory is powerful magic."

Hermione let out a trembling breath and wondered, "How am I meant to get Walburga alone, though?"

Tom pinched his lips into a tight purse and reached for his wine. He sipped again and suggested, "Send an owl to Walburga. Tell her there's an object in Borgin and Burkes that's just come in, something you think she'll find very appealing. Something of particular interest to her."

Hermione furrowed her brows, looking very confused. She shook her head. "So then what? Once she's inside the shop, I just erase her entire memory?"

"Yes. Precisely," Tom said. "Then you Confound Walburga to go out into Knockturn Alley, where people will think she's gone mad, and then -"

"Tom!" Hermione scoffed loudly and set down her fork and knife. "That's an awful idea."

Tom scowled, feeling defensive. Hermione clarified,

"It will be figured out that Walburga was going to Borgin and Burkes. Won't she tell someone where she's gone? Won't someone see her walking out of the shop? Tom, think about this."

"Fine." He shoveled three large bites of mashed potato into his mouth and gulped hard. "Fine. We'll write to Walburga and invite her to come speak privately at our flat. To… you know, to 'clear the air.' The letter will self-destruct just after Walburga reads it. Walburga won't tell people that she's visiting with us if she comes. Everyone knows she hates us, so -"

"This is an even more dangerous idea than bringing Walburga into Borgin and Burkes," Hermione argued, shaking her head vehemently. "I reject that idea entirely. You need a better plan, Tom Riddle. Now, first of all, your concern is your wand getting inspected over this. But you'd be carrying out an Obliviation."

Tom blinked. Hermione looked at him like he was very stupid, and she said,

"You're an Obliviator. Do you honestly think they'd be surprised to find _Obliviate_ all over your wand? No one would think it was strange at all that your wand bore hallmarks of wiping memories. They wouldn't know you'd done it to Walburga Black, would they?"

Tom sighed. He scratched at his head and thought aloud, "Erm… no, probably not. The Wizengamot checks for anything breaking the law, anything failing to uphold justice, but Obliviation spells would be directly related to my job, so…"

"So I think you ought to be the one to Obliviate Walburga Black," Hermione clipped. She cut into her chicken and chewed her bite. There was silence for a moment, and finally Tom cleared his throat and said,

"All right, then. I'll do it myself. I'll Obliviate Walburga Black."

* * *

Tom Riddle had Transfigured his features so thoroughly that when he glanced into the window he passed, he didn't recognise his own face. His face was thick and bearded with voluminous red-gold hair. There was a jagged quality to the bridge of his nose, and he had made himself plump. Tom was grateful now that he was so skilled with Human Transfiguration. Of course, he was skilled with a great many things, and this was just one of them. Tom strolled up to Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place and rapped quickly on the door with a closed fist. He coughed softly and waited for the door to swing open. When it did, a raspy-voiced House-Elf asked,

"How may I help you, sir?"

"I'm from Signor Alfredo's," Tom lied. "I need to speak with Miss Walburga Black. We've got an order in for her, but we need some measurements to make things right."

"Oh, of course. Kreacher will fetch her for you. Please do come inside and sit." Kreacher shut the door behind Tom, who watched the House-Elf stagger slowly away. As soon as the House-Elf rotated, Tom pulled out his wand and aimed it at the elf. _Stupefy!_ he nonverbally incanted, and the House-Elf went soaring through the air and slammed into the wall. Tom rushed to take down his Transfiguration, revealing his own features. He wanted the last thing Walburga saw before she lost her mind for good to be him, the real him.

"Walburga Black!" he screamed out. "Come down here!"

He heard footsteps pattering upstairs, and then Walburga appeared at the top of the staircase.

"Tom Riddle?" she exclaimed. "What are you doing here?"

"You and I have unfinished business." Tom aimed his wand at her. Walburga looked very uneasy, and she made a move to reach for her own wand. Tom's voice was lazy then as he mumbled, "_Expelliarmus._ You have spoken ill of my wife. You have spoken ill of me. You have thought terrible things about the both of us. But I won't allow you to stand in our way. Enjoy the rest of your life in St Mungo's, Miss Black."

Walburga narrowed her eyes and started coming down the stairs. "Just what do you think you're going to -"

"_Obliviate._" Tom rotated his wand, and Walburga froze on the stairs. Her eyes went completely blank, and she stumbled on the stairs. She stared straight ahead, her hand tightening on the bannister, and Tom began to wipe everything he could.

He worked as quickly as he possibly could, erasing every memory that whipped through Walburga's head. Recent thoughts of Hermione, of Tom, of Abraxas. Soon enough, Walburga didn't know who her family was. She didn't know what Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry was, or what it meant to be a Slytherin. She certainly had no idea who Abraxas Malfoy was, or who Tom Riddle was, or who Hermione Granger was. She knew nothing about the disappearance of Albus Dumbledore. She knew nothing about the war with Grindelwald. She was just like a child, suddenly, her mind blank and empty. Tom lowered his wand and then aimed it at the House-Elf, Kreacher, who was starting to rouse.

"_Obliviate,_" he incanted, and this time he was more careful. He just erased the entire afternoon from the House-Elf's mind, replacing it with a thought of making tea for his mistress, who seemed a bit batty compared to the day before. Then Tom Confounded the House-Elf into quickly Disapparating from where he'd landed against the wall without looking back at Tom, and Kreacher vanished into the air with a _crack._

"Walburga?" Tom asked quietly. She stared at him from the stairs, peace in her dark eyes.

"Do I know you?" she asked, sounding like a little girl. "I can't say as we've met before."

"No, we've never met before. Just once more. Promise. _Obliviate._" Tom couldn't have her remembering his face. He quickly wiped the memory of him from her head, and he Disapparated from Grimmauld Place without taking another breath.

* * *

"Abraxas Malfoy came into Borgin and Burkes today," Hermione said as she climbed into bed with Tom. He sat up and stared at her.

"And?"

"And… he said that his father Neptunus was relieved to hear that they'd put Walburga into St Mungo's. It's clear, Abraxas says, that something terrible's happened to Walburga's mind. She's gone mad. Nobody knows why. She's loopy. That's what he said. She's completely lost her sanity. Abraxas said he was awfully sorry to see a witch like Walburga lost to madness, but that he was glad to hear they were keeping her safe at St Mungo's. He actually came in to purchase a gift to send over to her, though he admitted she probably wouldn't know who had sent it."

"I had lunch today with an Auror, Westin Cockley," said Tom to Hermione. "I wanted to know what the Department of Magical Law Enforcement is saying about all of this. They interrogated Kreacher, Walburga's House-Elf. All they got out of him was that one day _Miss Walburga_ was acting just fine, and the next day she was acting quite odd, demanding six tea bags in one cup and the like. Westin Cockley, the Auror, did not seem at all suspicious of me."

Hermione pinched her lips. "If anything, they'll think someone tortured her. They might think she's been Obliviated, but they wouldn't have any good leads on motive."

"No, they wouldn't have reason to suspect anyone in particular," Tom agreed. "There's no obvious enemy here. They might have suspected Abraxas or Perla Parkinson, but when I directly asked Cockley about that, he said there was _no evidence of foul play_ and that it seemed the witch had simply gone mad."

"Simply gone mad," Hermione tossed her hands up and shook her head. "People don't simply go mad overnight. This is how the Department of Magical Law Enforcement responds to the idea that a witch has very suddenly lost all of her memories? Just toss her in St Mungo's and throw the investigation into the rubbish bin?"

"I'm not complaining," Tom said. "Are you?"

"No, I suppose not," Hermione sighed. Tom stroked at her cheek and said,

"Listen. Westin Cockley told me something else. He said there's a clerk position opening up in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. The Departmental desk worker, the witch who checks people into the office for appointments and such, fell pregnant and is due to deliver soon. She means to stay home with her baby permanently and is resigning her post."

Hermione raised her eyebrows. "In the newspaper article I was shown, I was a Ministry employee. I had to get in somehow. You think I should apply for the position."

"I think it would certainly help if you had a letter of recommendation from a member of the Wizengamot," Tom purred. Hermione rolled her eyes and plopped down onto the pillows.

"I can get the job on my own or I can't," she insisted. "I don't need a letter from my husband."

"Not from me, silly," he said, lying down beside her. "From the Chief Warlock. I was just speaking to him this evening before leaving work about you. Telling him what a brilliant witch you are, how very bookish and accomplished you are. I brought up the position and asked if he thought you'd be a good fit. He said he'd be more than happy to write you a letter of recommendation if you wanted it."

Hermione narrowed her eyes at him and snarled softly, "I don't need nepotism to get jobs."

"I have absolutely no doubt in your ability to impress people all on your own," Tom said honestly, "but you've no school credentials here. You're working on a rather thin résumé. Having a letter from the Chief Warlock would be helpful. And you know that you need to secure a post at the Ministry if you're to become the Head of the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, so that you and I can enact all the positive change for Beasts and Beings that you have in mind. You know, Hermione, that that newspaper article announcing Shepherd's birth had me as the Minister for Magic with you at my side."

"Yes," she said softly. "But what will I tell Mr Burke?"

"He'll bring in Borgin's son at long last," Tom said dismissively, "or the shop will close. It's not our concern. Listen. We have much, much bigger things to concern ourselves with now than the daily operation of Borgin and Burkes."

Hermione put her lips into a flat line and nodded. She hauled herself out of bed and stalked from the bedroom, and Tom called after her,

"Where are you going?"

"I'm getting an application prepared," she called over her shoulder. "I'm coming to the Ministry with you in the morning, and I'm going to apply for the post in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement."

"I don't think it's been formally listed yet," Tom informed her, and Hermione turned at the doorway and shrugged.

"Good," she said. "I'll be first in the queue, then."

**Author's Note: Walburga's ** _ **gone mad** _ **, but will it come back to haunt Tom? And how will Hermione's application to work at the Ministry go?. And it'll be interesting to know what Nott, Avery, the Lestranges, and Druella/Cygnus think about Walburga's sudden descent. Anyone up for a Pureblood get-together to celebrate Tom's Wizengamot initiation and to gossip? Woo hoo!**

**Thank you for reading and reviewing.**


	5. Enthusiasm

"So," Tom asked, walking straight up to the table in the Leaky Cauldron where Hermione was waiting for him, "How did it go?"

"Well," she said, looking eager and enthusiastic but also anxious, "They took my application."

"That's good, at least." Tom pulled out a chair and sat down with Hermione. He waved his hand at the serving wench who was walking by, and he called out, "Whatever stew's on and a Butterbeer."

The wench nodded, and Hermione sighed as she folded her hands on the table. "I went to the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. I turned in my résumé and letter of intent, and the outgoing desk worker - who is indeed quite pregnant - seemed relieved that there was someone so eagerly interested in the position. She said that Chief Warlock MacDougal had just been in to bring a letter of recommendation. So I suppose it went well. She said she was going to turn in my materials. She seemed kind."

"I hope you get the position," Tom said sincerely. "I wish you'd let me speak to the Department head so that -"

"Just because you're on the Wizengamot doesn't mean I need you to get me a job, Tom," Hermione said firmly. "I listed my qualifications. I discussed how much study I've done. I also mentioned that I had years of education in writing, mathematics, and other skills a desk worker might find useful. I made it quite plain that I can stand on my own two feet to do the job. Either they'll be impressed by the Chief Warlock's letter and my application or they won't. But what I don't need is for my husband to go groveling to the Department head on my behalf, begging for a post for me. That reeks of nepotism that I don't want for myself."

"Very well," Tom said quietly as the two bowls of stew and two Butterbeers came. He passed over a few Galleons and sipped his Butterbeer. "Abraxas Malfoy is having a small group over for dinner tomorrow at Malfoy Manor. To celebrate my initiation into the Wizengamot and, undoubtedly, to discuss Walburga. I'm sure there will be a lot of gossip."

Hermione chewed her lip and looked around the Leaky Cauldron. "Not here."

He nodded. "Anyway. We should go to dinner, don't you think?"

"Yes, Tom," she said, "I think we should. Let's eat our stew."

* * *

"You look very pretty," Tom said, as Hermione came walking out of the bathroom in a knee-length dark blue silk dress that she'd belted around her small waist with wide leather. She smiled a bit at him and insisted,

"I didn't want to go overboard."

"Very pretty," he affirmed. He walked toward her and tucked her loose, tamed waves behind her ear. She let him bend down and kiss her charmed makeup, and she told him,

"You're always handsome."

"Going to take me by Side-Along whilst we're kissing again?"

"No," she mumbled. "I'll let you take me this time."

"All right, then." He pushed her toward the wall, and Hermione gasped a bit when her back hit the wall. She tipped her head back and let Tom kiss her harder, lacing his fingers through hers. He held fast to her waist and began to drive himself against her. He was going just a little hard, rubbing at her and kissing her. He wanted her, he thought. He wanted to just push her knickers aside, touch her with his fingers, drag his tongue over her lips, squeeze at her breast…

"Hermione," he groaned against her, and then he Disapparated. He deliberated hard, not wanting to Splinch. He thought as hard as he could of Malfoy Manor, whipping Hermione through the air with him, and when they came to on the steps just outside the front door, Hermione staggered away and laughed softly, dragging her wrist over her mouth.

"Are we going to make a habit of doing that?" she asked. "Just Disapparating all the time with our lips locked together?"

"It's a fine tradition to begin," Tom smirked. He took her hand again and banged on the huge knocker of the Malfoys' door, and then the door slowly swung open. Dobby the House-Elf was there, and he gestured grandly for Hermione and Tom to come inside. Tom felt a pinch from Hermione's mind as she thought about the elf in her past lived experience. She thought of burying Dobby in the sand after Bellatrix Lestrange had murdered him. Tom slipped out of Hermione's mind and stayed out, determined not to break Rule Number One. Dobby's death didn't matter tonight. Dobby was alive and well. Hermione was going to fight for House-Elves' rights here.

"Come inside, come inside," Dobby was saying excitedly. "Madam Granger, Mr Riddle, just up to the dining room, if you please."

"Thank you, Dobby," Hermione said warmly. Dobby bowed low to her, and Tom led Hermione up the main foyer steps. They walked down the corridor of the main level of the manse, past portraits and idyllic scenes until they reached the sound of chattering and low laughter. They walked into the dining room, and Abraxas Malfoy immediately exclaimed,

"There he is! The man of the hour! Mr Wizengamot himself, Tom Riddle!"

Tom put up a hand and bowed his head modestly. "You make a fuss, Abraxas."

"Oh, but what a grand fuss there is to be made," Odessa Lestrange pushed, brushing past her husband and rushing over to where Hermione stood with Tom. She touched at Hermione's shoulders and said, "My, don't you look pretty as always, Hermione."

Tom glanced at Hermione, who seemed taken aback by the compliment. But he cleared his throat and said,

"She's always beautiful, I think."

"So she is." Odessa Lestrange gestured to the sapphire and emerald earrings she wore, the ones that Reynard had bought her in Borgin and Burkes after her stillbirth. "I am so grateful, Hermione, that you helped Reynard find these for me. I do so love them."

"I'm glad," Hermione said. Tom knew she was resisting the urge to tell Odessa that she hoped not to be working at Borgin and Burkes, that she'd applied for a Ministry position herself. Instead, Hermione said gently to Odessa, "The earrings are lovely on you."

"Let's eat!" Abraxas exclaimed. "We're having pheasant tonight!"

"Pheasant," Hermione mused, walking over to the table with Tom. She let him pull out her chair, and she sat beside Druella Rosier, who quietly complimented Hermione on being _bold enough to leave her hair down._ Hermione touched self-consciously at her hair, but Tom could read that Druella's compliment had been sincere, so he touched Hermione's shoulder as he sat and said,

"I adore when she wears it down. She's very pretty all on her own."

"Tom, if you keep flattering me all night, my cheeks are going to sear right off my face," Hermione complained. But Tom smiled a little at her and shrugged.

"I can't help myself. Sorry."

"Cygnus, why can't you be that in love with me?" Druella huffed. "A month until our wedding still. Feels like we've been engaged for _ages._ And look at the two of you. In swept Hermione, made Tom fall just head over heels, and now the two of you are contentedly wed. It's like a love story out of a book."

"Sometimes I do feel like I'm living some sort of fairy tale," Hermione told Druella. "All I want is a happy ending."

"I think you'll get one with Tom Riddle by your side," said Cygnus, raising his wine glass. Then he bellowed, "To Tom Riddle himself, whose new seat on the Wizengamot is to be celebrated most heartily. Congratulations, Tom!"

Avery, Nott, the Lestranges, Abraxas, Druella, and Hermione all raised their wine glasses. Tom bowed his head as they drank, and then the room went quiet as though they were expecting him to speak. He finally cleared his throat and said carefully,

"My old school friends… you are the ones who were my Knights of Walpurgis. I treasured each and every friendship when we were at Hogwarts. We accomplished so much together there, didn't we?"

Cygnus, Avery, Nott, Reynard, and Abraxas eyed one another and then nodded. Reynard Lestrange spoke up and noted,

"You were our charismatic leader even then, Tom. We all looked up to you."

"I know I did," Avery said. "I found you very impressive. I'm not a bit surprised you've managed a Wizengamot seat just a few years out of school."

"I mean to do so much more than sit in a court of law," Tom said softly. "I mean to do great things for the wizarding world, to enact all sorts of change. I mean to be a force for radical shifts… here is what I have in mind. I desire a magical world in which we exist separately from the Muggle world, entirely on our own, with law and righteousness reigning. I envision a world where the best minds and the most fit are in the positions of authority, where rights and dignities are properly doled out, where everyone knows their place but everyone has room to grow. Someday, my friends, I should like to see that wizarding world come to fruition. Would any of you like to join me in helping it flourish?"

Nott and Avery stared at one another for a moment, and then Nott eagerly burst forth, "I would. I would like to see such a world."

"I like what you have to say, Tom," said Druella Rosier, "but how will you accomplish all of this?"

Tom curled up his lips at Druella and said quite plainly, "I mean to become the Minister for Magic someday, Miss Rosier."

Reynard Lestrange shifted in his seat and then said, "I'm sure if any of us seated here could accomplish such a thing, Tom, it's you. You're the only one here who could manage -"

"It is not some lofty dream, Lestrange," Tom said firmly. "I am going to keep climbing in the Ministry. I would very much like to remember who my friends were at the bottom of the hill."

"We're your friends, Tom," Avery said, and Abraxas Malfoy pointed out,

"We're holding this dinner party to celebrate _you_, Tom, to celebrate your accomplishment in gaining a spot on the Wizengamot." He raised his glass again and said, "To Tom Riddle, whose goals are impressive and will certainly come to pass. May we all stand with him as he ascends the ranks of the Ministry of Magic."

"Hear, hear!" Druella Rosier raised her glass, and Cygnus beside her. Nott and Avery drank swiftly, and the Lestranges did, as well. Hermione raised her glass and met Tom's eyes, holding his gaze as she drank. The food arrived then - roasted pheasant with mushrooms and potatoes. As everyone cut into their food and began chewing, the room went quiet. Then at last, Druella Rosier asked,

"What news of Walburga?"

Abraxas Malfoy's knife scraped a little on his plate. He cleared his throat a bit roughly and said from the head of the table,

"I sent her a gift, but they said she had no idea who it was from. The Healers at St Mungo's now suspect she's got a Brain-Eating Hexwimple Infestation, but apparently there's no cure."

"Brain-Eating Hexwimple? What the blazes is that?" demanded Odessa Lestrange, sounding very sceptical. Hermione spoke up then and said,

"Brain-Eating Hexwimples are a parasite. They enter the ear when one goes too long without proper bathing or sanitation, but they only affect those with strictly magical blood. They feast on the matter of the brain, leaving thought processes destroyed. They die quickly, but by the time they're dead, all the damage is done. There's no fixing a Hexwimple infestation; once a brain is ruined by them, that's it."

"So Walburga got a parasitical infection that made her go mad because she wasn't keeping clean?" Odessa curled her nose up. "She did smell wretched at that wedding."

"Oh, but she did." Druella shook her head. "I wonder why she wasn't at least Scouring herself."

"It's why Scouring Charms have been used to cleanse magical bodies for centuries," Hermione said. "They say prisoners in Azkaban are especially susceptible to Hexwimple infestations. It can be difficult to tell the difference between someone who's simply been driven mad by the imprisonment and someone who's had their brain feasted upon by parasites. In any case, good prison reform would dictate regular Scouring of inmates to prevent them falling victim to Hexwimple infestations."

"You care very deeply for the mental states of Azkaban prisoners?" Reynard Lestrange cocked an eyebrow at Hermione, who seemed to immediately realise she was on thin ice. She took a bite of pheasant and a sip of wine and clarified,

"I only care that it's obvious what's actually happened to the people in prison. Hexwimple infestations are terribly contagious. So, Abraxas, they think that's what's happened to Walburga, then?"

"Yes," Abraxas nodded. "Her parents are absolutely devastated. Orion went to visit her, and she hadn't the foggiest idea who he was. She doesn't know anybody. She knows nothing of magic. She can hardly feed herself. They say she'll be a resident of the Magical Catastrophes ward indefinitely. Her parents keep insisting they want her at home with a carer, but right now they're keeping her in hospital."

"And the Department of Magical Law Enforcement isn't pursuing this?" asked Reynard Lestrange rather stiffly. "They aren't asking questions? Whether someone's Obliviated her or anything?"

"Actually, I spoke with an Auror out of concern," Tom said, folding his hands. "I asked whether the Ministry was going to look into what happened to Walburga. They did open an investigation, but they quickly closed it. Aurors determined that what happened to her was medical, not malicious. They have tests they run, you know, to see if a mind's been altered that way."

He was lying, of course, but Lestrange wouldn't know any better, and neither would anyone else at the table. They all went quiet for a long while, eating again, until dessert came and Abraxas raised his glass of sweet white dessert wine.

"To Walburga Black," he said gravely. "We may never know her again. She almost certainly will never know us again. To the memory of the… friend… she was to us all."

"To Walburga." Everyone drank, and then Hermione dared to ask quietly,

"Abraxas… I'm surprised Perla Parkinson isn't joining us tonight."

Abraxas' cheeks flushed red, and he admitted with a little cough, "I didn't want to… you know, it didn't feel appropriate just now? But I am quite fond of Miss Parkinson."

"I think we'd all love to see more of her," Hermione said warmly. "Tom and I find her absolutely charming. Don't we, Tom?"

"Charming," Tom agreed, flashing Abraxas a little smile. "She's perfect for you, Malfoy. And you for her."

"D'you suppose so?" Abraxas asked, his face lighting up a little. Tom nodded and took a bite of his custard.

"Perfect."

* * *

Hours later, Tom lay in bed, unable to sleep. He stared at Hermione's form as she stirred anxiously, and he knew that she was dreaming. He should stay out of her head, he thought. He was going to break Rule Number One. He mustn't. He owed her privacy. But he couldn't resist; he wanted to know what she was dreaming about. So he reached his hand towards her and whispered into the darkness,

"_Legilimens._"

_Ron Weasley was cleaning his teeth with a wooden toothbrush at the sink in Hermione's bathroom. She was standing in the shower and scrubbing at her hair with shampoo._

'_Da smeh nysh.'_

'_Sorry; what?' Hermione giggled. She peeled back the curtain a little and watched as Ron spat out his mint toothpaste. He rinsed his mouth in the sink and set down his toothbrush, dragging his fingers through his loose ginger hair and saying more clearly,_

'_That smells nice. Your shampoo.'_

'_Oh. It's rose.' Hermione shut the curtain and began rinsing her hair. She opened the Unbreakable Glass bottle of conditioning cream and daubed some into her palm, dragging it through her tresses. She heard Ron let out a low little groan from outside the shower, and she asked him, 'What is it?'_

'_It's you, 'Mione,' he said. 'It's always been you.'_

_She quirked up half her mouth and shook her head. They'd argued the night before, about something stupid that she could hardly remember now. But she did love him. She was going to marry this boy. She stared down at her engagement ring and dragged her finger over the little diamond. She was going to marry Ron Weasley._

Tom dragged himself out of Hermione's mind and felt so queasy he had to actually put his palm to his abdomen and cast a Nonemesis Charm. He was overcome, all of a sudden, with a sick sense of possession, with an almost vengeful sense of desire and jealousy. He roughly shook at Hermione's shoulder, and she jolted awake with a gasp.

"What's wrong?" She pushed herself up to sit and immediately reached for her wand. "Is something wrong?"

"Just your dreams," Tom snarled. Hermione frowned in the darkness. She held her wand in her right hand and muttered,

"_Lumos._"

Her wand illuminated, bathing them both in a pulsing, ghostly white light. Hermione gave Tom a serious look and demanded,

"You were in my dreams with Legilimency? Tom…"

"You were squirming; I thought you were having a nightmare." His cheeks went hot with his lie. Usually he was very good at lying without giving himself away, but he knew that right now she could tell he wasn't giving her the truth. She scoffed and shook her head.

"And just what was I dreaming about?"

"Don't you remember?" Tom spat. Hermione shrugged.

"Do you remember every single dream you've ever had? No. I was asleep and then I was being very rudely shaken awake. What was I dreaming?"

"You were in the shower. Ron Weasley was brushing his teeth, telling you your shampoo smelled nice. You were touching your engagement ring, thinking about marrying him."

Hermione squared her jaw and shook her head again. Her eyes visibly watered. "_Nox._"

She kept hold of her wand and climbed out of the bed. Tom furrowed his brow and snapped,

"Where are you going?"

"To the divan, where I shall sleep with a blanket and a pillow on my own. Please do not sneak into my head again," Hermione said sharply. Tom almost followed her, almost yelled at her that she had no right dreaming about the wizard she'd left behind to time travel to him, but then he realised just how ridiculous that was. He chomped his lip until he tasted blood, and he watched as Hermione left the bedroom and shut the door behind her.

Tom flopped back down onto the bed and sprawled his arms out beside him, feeling like a fool and wanting nothing more than to be the only person occupying the thoughts in Hermione's head. But she would never forget it all, he thought, and he could never make her. Still, wasn't she precisely where she was meant to be? Here, with him?

It wasn't Ron's engagement ring that she wore on her finger, he thought. That ring had Vanished into Non-Being shortly after Hermione had come here. Now she wore the delicate engagement ring Tom had given her on one knee in this flat. Now she wore the platinum band he'd Conjured for her and put on her hand in the Ministry of Magic. She was Tom's wife. She might have been engaged to Ron Weasley in a world that no longer existed, but here, here in this world where she was meant to be, she was the wife of Tom Riddle.

He heaved himself out of bed and stalked quickly over to the door. He flung it open and moved briskly into the sitting room. Hermione was in the process of arranging herself on the divan with a blanket and pillow that she'd expertly Conjured. Tom gulped and said, too sternly,

"I apologise for looking at your dreams. I can't apologise for being jealous of him. I'll always be jealous of him."

"He's gone, Tom." Hermione flashed him a sad look and made a move to lie down, but Tom snapped,

"Please come back to bed."

"Why?" Hermione sighed, and Tom felt a desperate burn in his eyes as he whispered,

"Because I am rather ferociously in love with you, and I shan't sleep a wink without you beside me."

Hermione hesitated, then rose and aimed her wand at the pillow and blanket she'd made. She nonverbally Vanished them and let out a long, trembling breath as she said,

"I can't stop you from being jealous, but you have to understand that I will always have memories of my first life. Just the same, my life moving forward is you, Tom Riddle. You're going to be the Minister for Magic, and I'm going to be beside you, and we are going to have a little boy called Shepherd. I thought I was going to marry Ron Weasley, but now Ron Weasley is gone. And I am your wife."

"Yes," Tom said. "You are my wife. And I will stay out of your head. Now. Will you please come to bed?"

She approached him, took his hand, and let him lead her back to the bedroom.

**Author's Note: Hermione's applied for the Ministry position! Tom's making moves to get support from his old friends! Gossip about Walburga! And an actual argument between Hermione and Tom! Whew! So will Hermione get the Ministry position? And what will Tom's first trial as a Wizengamot member look like? Let's find out!**

**Please do review if you get a quick moment. Thank you!**


	6. Quietly

"Big day today," murmured a voice into Tom's ear. He groaned and rolled towards the voice, blinking open his eyes to see Hermione facing him in bed. She curled up her lips a little and whispered, "First Wizengamot trial."

"Mmm-hmm." Tom snaked his fingers through her beautiful waves and leaned forward to kiss her cheek. "Does it make you happy? Me working at the Ministry of Magic instead of running off to the Continent to learn the Dark Arts? Instead of coming back as Lord Voldemort and dying as a white shell of a mortal man? Does it make you happy, Hermione?"

"Of course it does," she hummed back, her hand reaching between them and snaking beneath the waistband of his pyjama trousers. She moved her mouth to the skin of Tom's neck and dusted her lips against the place just beneath his ear. "It makes me very happy to think that, in just a few years, you will be a young and very powerful Minister for Magic making all sorts of changes to the wizarding world. It makes me happy to think that your friends will become loyal to you for the right reasons. It fills me with… to think of you and Shepherd and I… you know, I…"

She trailed off then, and her hand stilled beneath his trousers. Tom petted at her hair and shut his eyes. He peered into her mind with gentle Legilimency and pulled out her imagination. She often pictured what life would be like as a Ministry Department Head, the wife of the Minister for Magic, with a little baby. Shepherd. She often imagined Shepherd's dark brown eyes, his wispy hair, the way he'd croon and sigh like babies did. Tom slid out of Hermione's mind and murmured against her temple,

"It'll all be very marvelous. But I ought to get dressed."

"Let me take care of you first," Hermione insisted. Tom choked out a little noise but didn't protest one bit when she proceeded to push down his pyjama trousers. She was bleeding, he knew. She'd complained the night before about cramps. She seemed untroubled by that now as she reached for her wand and aimed it at Tom's half hard cock, peeling back the blankets.

"_Lubrico,_" she mumbled, setting down her wand again. She wrapped her fingers around the base of his shaft, and he tipped his head back as she began to move her fist up and down his length. Every stroke had just the right amount of pressure, just the right amount of slip. She languidly slid her hand up and down a few times, coursing over the tip, whilst her left hand massaged Tom's hair-dusted belly. Her fingers trailed up his chest, playing with his pectoral muscles for a few moments as she stroked him harder than ever. She squeezed just so, and Tom squirmed.

Hermione really set to work then, using both hands as she brought him to a point where his ears were ringing and he was seeing spots. She made a ring with her forefinger and thumb and twisted around his tip, whilst her other hand stroked firmly at his shaft. She kept repeating this, over and over, until Tom felt like he was absolutely on the verge of bursting. He stared at her, at the way her little chest was heaving in her nightgown, and he whispered,

"So very pretty."

"Tom." Her eyes fluttered shut, and he was acutely aware of the feel of her wedding rings moving against his cock. The platinum ring he'd made for her, the engagement ring he'd given her on one knee. The jewellery that marked her as his wife was stroking along his skin, and it felt so good. He bucked his hips up and clutched at the sheets as he murmured frantically,

"Going to make a right mess -"

"Which I shall clean up," Hermione replied calmly. "Come for me, Tom."

"Oh." He wrenched his eyes shut as she quickened and deepened her strokes. She pushed down with one fist, then the other, over his tip and shaft again and again. She moved easily with the Lubrication Charm, and Tom finally lost himself to her. He seethed through clenched teeth as everything burst like a bomb inside of him. The detonation was powerful but brief, a little convulsion inside his chest and abdomen that spread like wildfire through his veins. He was suddenly aware that his come was leaping up all over his stomach, pooling obscenely, but as he watched it land in ropes and puddles, he was more turned on than ever. Hermione was panting now, her cheeks gone red. She stroked him far more cautiously in the wake of his climax, and then she lay his cock down on his belly and bent down to kiss his cheek.

"I love you," she whispered. "Only you, you understand?"

He stared at her as she picked up her wand to Siphon and Scour him. He huffed a breath and sat up slowly once she'd cleaned her own hands off. He took her face in his hands and told her,

"You travelling through time to me was the most wondrous thing that's ever happened to anyone, ever, anywhere. You and I were meant to be together. Here."

"Yes." Hermione's eyes watered, and he knew why. She was thinking of Ron, of Harry Potter, of Ginevra Weasley. She was thinking of Crookshanks and her parents. She was thinking of the world she'd left behind. And then she was thinking of Tom. She seemed to steel herself as she put her hand to his chest and said softly, "Go get ready, Mr Riddle. You've a big day today."

* * *

"Tom, my dear boy," trilled Chief Warlock Seoras MacDougal. "Your seat is just up there, with the other Departmental representatives. You've familiarised yourself with the parliamentary procedures of the chamber?"

"Of course I have, Chief Warlock," Tom nodded. "I'll be on my best behaviour. Promise. Oh, and thank you again for writing Hermione that letter of recommendation."

Seoras MacDougal shifted on his feet where he stood in the centre of the Wizengamot chamber. He raised his hands up and shrugged.

"You spoke so highly of her. But I understand they're a little shaky on her academic background, or lack thereof. I suggested some written exams as part of the interview process."

"Written exams," Tom repeated, nodding. He tried not to smirk. "Yes, I think she'd be more than amenable to taking some written exams to prove herself."

"I think she'll be fine, Tom. After all, it's only a desk worker's position," said MacDougal. "It isn't as though she's applying for a Department Head position, eh?"

He clapped Tom on the shoulder, and Tom let out a little cough of a laugh. Then he nodded to the Chief Warlock and made his way up into the gallery, past a few rows of plum-robed elder witches and wizards to an empty spot on the bench. An older wizard came and sat beside him, giving him a warm expression as he said,

"Mr Riddle. I've heard great things about you from Armando Dippet. I'm Rex Rosier. You know my great-granddaughter, Druella. And Priscilla. They both speak highly of you, too."

"Ah, yes. I am so looking forward to Druella's wedding to Cygnus Black III in a few weeks," Tom said. "It's a fine match for both families."

"Yes. If only Priscilla would get her head on her shoulders, but her heart is with our family in France." Rex Rosier tossed a hand in the air. "In any case, Headmaster Dippet told me that you were the brightest pupil Hogwarts has ever known, and Druella says you've got some grand ideas on the direction the wizarding world ought to go."

Tom felt his cheeks go a little warm, but he said with caution, "I have great dreams for my people."

"It is a fine thing, to be so aspirational for oneself," said Rex Rosier, "and even finer to be ambitious on behalf of the community. Know that you've my full support, dear boy."

"Thank you, sir." Tom curled up half his mouth and asked, "Which Department do you represent?"

"He's with the Department of Magical Games and Sports," said a voice from Tom's other side. He turned to see a witch, perhaps in her sixties or seventies, who was giving Tom a sharp look. "I'm Maya Shacklebolt. I heard about you, too, Mr Riddle. From Albus Dumbledore."

"Did you?" Tom let out a long sigh. "Unfortunately, Professor Dumbledore and I never quite cultivated the type of relationship that I would have liked to have -"

"Spare me," said Maya Shacklebolt sharply. "Dumbledore said he didn't trust you a bit. Now you're a brand-new colt in the Wizengamot, and we're all meant to take you seriously? Well, I've got an eye on you, Mr Riddle."

Tom narrowed his gaze and said in the warmest voice he could manage, "I do hope you and I can be friends, Madam Shacklebolt."

"_Miss._ Never married." She sniffed and turned her face toward the centre of the room. "Never saw a purpose for a wizard."

"Come off it, Maya," complained Rex Rosier. "The boy's been thoroughly vetted; the Chief Warlock believes him worthy. Albus Dumbledore is gone, and no one knows why. You know as well as I do that it's suspected that he travelled somewhere else… sometime else…"

"Albus Dumbledore did not just Vanish!" Maya Shacklebolt exclaimed. Her dark face contorted angrily. "Something terrible happened to him. And he did not trust the boy sitting beside me."

"I do somewhat object to being called a _boy_," Tom snarled, "seeing as I am a married man and a Ministry employee here representing my Department."

"This chamber will now come to order!" A gavel banged a few times from the Chief Warlock's podium in the centre of the chamber, and he boomed out, "To order! To order! Silence!"

The Wizengamot went quiet, and Tom looked over to see that about a dozen spectators had gathered in the gallery to watch today's trial. Tom observed with interest then as the double doors leading into the Wizengamot chamber cracked open and a middle-aged witch was led in by a wand-aiming Auror.

"Today's trial is to decide the fate of Mrs Arcangela Moss of St Hilary, Wales. Mrs Moss, sit in the witness' chair and raise your right hand."

Arcangela Moss appeared to be a thin, wide-eyed witch with a little tremble in her hands. She wore a flowered hat and simple woolen robes, and as she came to the seat before the podium, she looked terrified. She sat down and raised her hand, which shook badly.

"Do you swear to tell this chamber the truth and nothing but it?" demanded Chief Warlock MacDougal. Mrs Moss nodded and whispered,

"I do swear."

"Mrs Arcangela Moss is accused of using Healing magic to rid her Muggle neighbour of symptoms of a respiratory infection that had been bothering the neighbour for some time. In doing so, Mrs Moss brazenly broke the International Statute of Secrecy and endangered the community, and she failed to report the Muggle to the Obliviator Squad before he told six others about the supposed _sorceress next door_ who had cured him of his pneumonia. Mrs Moss, how do you plead?"

Arcangela Moss tipped her head up and said firmly, "I believe that when we have the ability to help others, we should take the opportunity to -"

"That was not the question," blurted Tom Riddle. All eyes in the chamber turned to him, including the Chief Warlock's. Tom licked his lips and stood slowly. He was not breaking parliamentary procedure. Not strictly speaking. He sighed and said, "Mrs Moss, you were asked how you plead, not whether it is right or wrong for the International Statute of Secrecy to exist. Did you or did you not use magic in the presence of a Muggle, thus endangering our world and leaving us open to exposure? Are you guilty or innocent of the specific charge?"

The chamber was as silent as a tomb, and finally Arcangela Moss gripped the arms of her chair and shot Tom a very nasty look before saying,

"Guilty, I suppose."

"Thank you, Chief Warlock MacDougal." Tom sat back down. The Chief Warlock raised his eyebrows and stared down at Arcangela Moss. Beside Tom, Maya Shacklebolt was glaring as though she were shocked and appalled that the new, young representative had dared speak. But others, including Rex Rosier, seemed very impressed.

In the end, Arcangela Moss was fined one thousand Galleons and was given three years' probation wherein, if she broke any laws whatsoever, she would find herself sentenced to Azkaban. It was a light sentence, Tom thought, but he didn't much care. What he cared about was that he'd given himself the opportunity to stand out, quite literally, at the trial. He'd been able to solidify himself as a strong voice for the Ministry, as a vocal advocate for the International Statute of Secrecy.

After the trial, Tom made his way out of the gallery, and as people mingled about, Chief Warlock MacDougal caught him on the shoulder. Tom whirled about and flashed the Chief Warlock a little smile, bowing his head.

"Sir," he said. "I hope I didn't overstep."

"On the contrary, Tom," MacDougal said, quirking half his mouth. "I think you made quite a debut. We'll be able to count on you to stay tightly on the witnesses, eh? No shrinking violet. Not you."

"No, sir. Not me." Tom shook his head. "Must get back to Obliviation, sir."

"Yes, of course. We've all got other work to attend to. A fine first trial, then, Tom. Welcome again."

* * *

"Tell me all about it," said Hermione the instant Tom walked into the flat. He smirked and immediately shucked his outer robe. He loosened his tie and yanked it off from around his head, and he told her,

"You first."

"What do you mean, me first?" Hermione asked, but he could tell from her pink cheeks and her spinning thoughts that she had much to share with him.

"Your exams," he said quietly, stalking towards the sitting room. "Chief Warlock MacDougal told me."

Hermione flew to her feet and tossed her arms into the air, spinning into a circle. "Oh, it was wonderful! They called me in for an interview, and in order to _prove myself,_ they wanted me to take written exams that were even more difficult than N.E.W.T.s! I adored them! I got to write an essay about the history of the Ministry of Magic. I got to answer all sorts of theoretical questions about Transfiguration. They wanted detailed explanations about how self-inking quills work and about Collation and Copying Charms. They asked me to explain six Ministry laws in detail. I felt like my hand was going to fall off by the end of it. It was wonderful."

Tom caught her in his arms and laughed down against her mouth. He kissed her gently and whispered onto her lips,

"They will be so very impressed by the answers they receive. They won't know what to do with the knowledge you've spilled onto the parchments for them. It'll be ten times what they were expecting."

"Mmm." Hermione snaked her arms up around Tom's shoulders. "I told you I'd get this job myself or not at all."

"And you'll get it," Tom assured her. "They'd be bloody fools to see how capable you are and not hire you, so."

He kissed her again and then touched his forehead to hers as she asked once more, "How did the Wizengamot trial go?"

"Well, I stood up and demanded of the suspect to know whether or not she was guilty, because she was being insolent," Tom admitted. Hermione snorted and said,

"I should not be surprised that you didn't just sit there quietly."

"I don't just sit quietly," Tom reminded her. She sighed and stared into his eyes.

"No. Neither of us do."

"It's why we're going to do marvelous things, Hermione," Tom said, "because we refuse to sit quietly. Now. Let's go; I'm taking you out to dinner."

**Author's Note: Of **_**course**_ **Tom couldn't just sit there during the trial. But at least he's proven himself in the Wizengamot. Looks like he's got another potential enemy in Maya Shacklebolt, though. Will Hermione get the job? And it's almost time for Cygnus and Druella's wedding!**

**Thank you as always so very much for reading and reviewing!**


	7. Run

Tom drummed his fingers on the table in the Leaky Cauldron. He'd already ordered roasted goat with potatoes and onions for himself and Hermione, and their Butterbeers were already on the table. He was jittery and fidgety now waiting for her, and he kept eyeing the door where she'd undoubtedly come walking in. Person after person came striding into the Leaky Cauldron, but Hermione still did not come. Tom pinched his lips and cleared his throat roughly as a dark-skinned witch came walking into the pub. Maya Shacklebolt.

"Mr Riddle," said Maya as she approached his table. Tom slowly rose to his feet and nodded.

"Miss Shacklebolt."

"I must admit, you took me quite by surprise at the Wizengamot trial, Mr Riddle," said Maya Shacklebolt. She folded her hands in front of her and stood primly beside Tom's table. "I wasn't expecting our newest, youngest member to stand up and start yelling at the suspect in custody."

"I believe I adhered to parliamentary procedure," Tom said coolly. "Any member of the Wizengamot may question the witness at any time."

"Indeed," Maya agreed, "but you were bold, Mr Riddle. Far more bold than I'd expected. I do have my eye on you. But, then, I'm sure you've seen the newspaper. I'm not the only one watching. Good evening to you."

"Good evening, Miss Shacklebolt," Tom said. He pried into Maya's head as she stalked away, and in her thoughts, he read a deep and abiding suspicion. Albus Dumbledore had warned her, he could tell, about the Riddle boy. She didn't trust Tom. Not one bit. Tom huffed a breath and sat back down, picking up his copy of the _Daily Prophet _and reading the front-page story again.

_ARCANGELA MOSS FOUND GUILTY OF BREACHING STATUTE OF SECRECY_

_Mrs Arcangela Moss, of St Hilary, Wales, was found guilty by the Wizengamot of breaching the International Statute of Secrecy. Mrs Moss was accused of using Healing magic to ease respiratory symptoms of a Muggle neighbour, who became suspicious of Mrs Moss and reported her activities to many other Muggles. For performing magic in the presence of so many Muggles, and for failing to report the case to the Ministry for Obliviation purposes, Mrs Moss was fined and placed on probation. She will need to stay in the Ministry's good graces and pay her fines in full to avoid an Azkaban sentence._

_Mrs Moss' Wizengamot trial was marked by her defiant answer upon being asked whether she was guilty or innocent. Instead of replying directly to the Chief Warlock's inquiry, Mrs Moss stated that witches and wizards should use magic to help Muggles. This led to her being directly challenged by newly-instated Wizengamot member, Tom Riddle, noted for his youth and vigour. He ardently resisted Mrs Moss' aversion to the question and insisted that there was no room to debate the validity of the Statute of Secrecy, instead demanding a straightforward plea. The drama soon dried up, and Mrs Moss was quickly found guilty._

Tom sighed as the serving wench walked up with two plates of roasted goat and potatoes. She set them down on the table, and Tom pulled out some money to pass over. The serving wench shook her head and held up her hand, insisting quietly,

"On the house, Mr Riddle."

Tom frowned a little and stared at the bar, where another Tom, the innkeeper, was nodding politely. Tom Riddle bowed his head and murmured to the serving wench,

"Give Tom my thanks."

"I'll do that, Mr Riddle," she replied. She walked off, and then suddenly someone came rushing up to the table.

"Sorry I'm so late!" Hermione exclaimed, pulling out her chair and sitting down quickly. She picked up her fork and knife and immediately began sawing into her roasted goat. "I had to get settled into… well, into my desk."

"Into your desk." Tom felt a grin cross his face. He slapped the table with his hand and burst out, "You got the job."

"I got the job." Hermione smiled broadly at him and put a bite of goat into her mouth. She swigged at her Butterbeer. She set down her knife and fork and chewed, and when she swallowed again, she stated, "They were so impressed by my written responses that they nearly offered me a more elevated position in the Department. But the only actual opening is the desk job, so I'll take it for now."

"You're going to do marvelously," Tom purred. "Have you told Mr Burke?"

"I sent him a very apologetic owl, and he wrote back that he wasn't a bit surprised," Hermione said, her face going pink and her smile spreading more widely than ever. "I thanked him so much for giving me employment when I… well, you know. When I first needed it."

_When I first showed up in this timeline, plucked out of my old life and dropped into this timeline out of the clear blue,_ she was thinking. Tom reached for her hand and covered it with his own, and he whispered earnestly,

"I am so very proud of you."

"Are you?" Hermione stared at him for a long moment. "Does it make you proud to have a Ministry secretary for a wife?"

"It makes me extraordinarily proud," Tom said, brushing her thumb with his, "to have a wife who has proven herself through all the adversity in the world and has gained for herself a Ministry position. Yes, that makes me proud."

"Well," Hermione murmured, "go on and be proud, then. Guess we're both Ministry slouches now."

"Wonderful," Tom said, picking up his knife and fork. "Let's eat. Enjoy your meal; it was on the house."

* * *

"I feel like this looks silly."

"Silly?" Tom adjusted his bow tie and walked out of the bathroom. He raised his eyebrows at Hermione, who was clad in a beautiful gown of butter yellow raw silk. It had metallic gold ribbon accents and was cut in a very old-fashioned manner, in a style Hermione did not usually wear. But she was dressed like a Pureblood tonight, he thought. She had dressed like this to try and impress the attendees of Cygnus and Druella's wedding. She had an elegant yellow hat pushed into her honey-coloured curls, and Tom opened his mouth to tell her that he thought she looked very pretty. But she looked down at herself and insisted,

"Yellow is not my colour."

"You look fantastic," Tom insisted, but from her mind, he felt a push of unease, and he shrugged. "Chocolate brown, perhaps?"

"Oh, yes." Hermione aimed her wand at herself and muttered a few spells. Her butter yellow gown was Transfigured into a creamy coffee colour then, still with gold accents, and it was much more subdued and elegant. She changed her hat to match, and Tom smiled a little at her.

"Perfect," he insisted. He walked up to her and brushed his knuckles along her cheekbone. "We have a bit of a tradition, you and I. Apparating to formal events whilst kissing. It's rather a _thing_ we do, you and I, isn't it?"

"Kiss me, then, Tom Riddle," Hermione murmured, "and take me to the Blacks' townhouse."

"No, you silly girl. You think they'd have a wedding at a townhouse? It's at Castle Rosier," Tom reminded her. Hermione rolled her eyes and shrugged.

"I can't keep track of the social calendar."

"Well, you're going to have to learn to try," he said, "because I mean to stay very social. It will be key to my climbing, you understand."

She stared up at him and nodded slowly. "We're together, you and I."

He bent to kiss her then, drawing her lips against his, and he put his hand to the small of her back to drag her against his body. Then he Disapparated, thinking of Castle Rosier outside Durham. He and Hermione whirled through the pinching black void for a cold moment in time, and then they came to with a hard smack on the ground. Tom steadied them and laughed against Hermione's mouth as he pulled away and whispered,

"Mmm, but I do like to kiss you as we teleport."

"Space and time are strange things, aren't they?" Hermione asked rather mischievously. Tom sighed and nodded down at her, and he took her hand and led her up to the Baroque castle before them. The stately stairs that led up to the front doors were lined with Black and Rosier family banners, and as they walked inside, Hermione mused,

"They've gone all out, haven't they?"

"Spared no expense, it would seem." Tom plucked a prawn from a chilled cup on a passing tray carried by a House-Elf. He chewed at it and then Vanished the remains, and Hermione immediately grabbed a stuffed mushroom from another tray.

They spent the next half hour wrapped up in conversation. Everyone was interested in hearing about their new Ministry positions. Ancient Rosier and Black relatives, Mr Burke himself, and old school friends like Mulciber and Rookwood took their attentions. Standing with his old lackeys Crabbe and Goyle, Tom said confidently,

"Working in the Wizengamot is a stepping stone that will, I believe, prove to be immensely beneficial as I learn to navigate the hierarchy and structure of the Ministry."

Crabbe and Goyle, who possessed perhaps three brain cells between the two of them, looked at Tom like his head was floating. Hermione cleared her throat and clarified,

"What Tom means is that he's going to learn an awful lot by being on the Wizengamot. He'll learn a lot about being a Ministry official."

"Ah. Yes, of course." Crabbe sipped his wine and nodded. "And do you enjoy your new position, Madam Riddle?"

"It's Madam Granger, actually," Tom corrected Crabbe at once. Hermione's cheeks reddened beside him. Tom sipped from his own glass of dry white wine as Hermione stammered,

"I quite… you know, it's a position that will pave the way for opportunity for me, I hope."

"What Hermione means is that she's got her foot in the door, which will mean greater things for her in future," Tom said, and Goyle hummed,

"Good things for the both of you, then."

"_Walburga?"_

Tom whirled around at the sound of Walburga's name. Suddenly people were gasping, parting like a sea, making way for the figure in a white nightgown and green velvet dressing-gown who was limping down the centre of the parlour.

"Walburga!" cried Cygnus, who had not yet left the parlour for the ceremony. Druella was already with her bridesmaids; the ceremony was due to begin in about fifteen minutes' time. But now Cygnus rushed to his sister's side, and Alphard, the other brother, dashed over, as well. Pollux caught his wife as she seemed to faint a little, and he called out for help. Someone grabbed Irma Black as Pollux rushed over with his sons and daughter.

"Walburga!" Cygnus exclaimed. "How did you get here?"

"Get where?" Walburga asked in a dreamy voice.

"Who saw her come in?" Pollux Black yelled out. Everyone was silent. Pollux screeched then, "Who saw my daughter come in here? How has she been taken from St Mungo's and brought here? Why isn't she in hospital, as she's meant to be? Who saw her arrive?"

"Please, sir," Tom said, taking a few steps forward, "I have a gift with minds. If I may?"

Pollux eyed Tom with great suspicion, but then he nodded. Walburga stared at Tom, and suddenly a look resembling realisation crossed her face. She jabbed her finger at Tom and whispered softly,

"Tom Riddle."

Tom blinked. Hermione was at Tom's side before he knew what was happening. Walburga lurched forward and touched at Tom's chest. _Legilimens,_ he incanted frantically, and in her mind, he saw almost no coherent thoughts except for the idea that Tom Riddle had Obliviated her. How she knew that, he would never have been able to pin down. His breath accelerated in his chest as Walburga grasped at his tuxedo robes and mumbled desperately,

"It was you. It was him, Daddy. Mama. It was Tom Riddle. He did this to me."

There were audible gasps then, and people immediately broke into whispers and mutters. Tom shook his head and said loudly,

"Her mind is so addled; she's no idea what she -"

"Tom Riddle came to Grimmauld Place and ruined me," Walburga Black said, sounding clearer than ever now. Tom felt his eyes go round as saucers. He gulped hard and insisted loudly,

"No. That's not true."

"His Mudblood _whore_ came through time! We figured it out, Abraxas and I…" Walburga began to spin in circles then, whirling her arms about as though she were drunk. Tom's face was hot, and his heart was racing, but he met Pollux Black's eyes and insisted quietly,

"Sir, she is not of sound mind."

"I think we'll have the Ministry of Magic reopen an investigation into all of this," said Pollux Black firmly, "once my daughter is safely abed in St Mungo's Hospital. In the meantime, don't anyone let Mr Riddle go anywhere. I'm sending for Aurors immediately."

He turned to walk away, pulling Alphard and Cygnus with him. Tom panicked as Crabbe, Goyle, Avery, and Nott approached him, all looking very uneasy. Tom licked his lips and glanced at Hermione. She looked afraid, all of a sudden, and he found himself poking into her mind for some sense of what to do. He received from her one single word, a firm instruction.

_Run._

Tom grabbed Hermione's hand and Disapparated, coming to inside their flat.

**Author's Note: Uh-oh. Someone's in **_**big trouble.**_ **Sorry for the cliffhanger. Thank you for reading. PLEASE REVIEW! Thanks!**


	8. Oolong

"We need to hurry," Tom puffed as he and Hermione dashed into the flat's bedroom. Suddenly, before Tom knew what was happening, Hermione was opening a carpetbag on the bed and muttering an Undetectable Extension Charm over it. Tom began Summoning clothes from their wardrobes, and fabric swished through the air as robes and dresses and underwear came flying. Into the carpetbag it all went, pouring into the Extended vessel.

"_Accio_ toiletries. _Accio_ shaving kit. _Accio_ toothbrushes, _Accio_ shoes, _Accio_ hats. _Accio_ Wizarding Wireless." Hermione aimed her wand all over, and things just came soaring toward the carpetbag. Razors and toothbrushes, dragon hide boots and pointed hats, and even the wireless itself all soared into the carpetbag.

"We have to hide in Muggle London," Hermione said as she shut the carpetbag. "We haven't got any choice. We need to get away from the wizarding world until we figure out what's going on with Walburga."

"Let's get out of here. Let's go to… I dunno, to a Muggle hotel or something," Tom said rather desperately. Hermione glanced down at her extremely witchy looking ensemble and cast a few spells to Transfigure it. She wound up with a completely different dress within a few moments, a brown raw silk ensemble that was cut much more to Muggle standards. She reached for the carpetbag and took Tom's hand, and she squeezed hard as she whispered,

"Come with me."

She Disapparated then, and Tom was whipped through space. When he and Hermione came to, they were standing on a sidewalk in the darkness. Hermione pulled Tom toward a large, elaborate building with a sign that read _Hotel Russell._

They walked up to the almost grotesquely ornate building, and a uniformed doorman drew open the door for them. Tom still had tuxedo robes on, and he pulled aside with Hermione just inside the door and quickly pulled out his wand. He Transfigured his outer robe to be a regular Muggle-style tuxedo jacket, and then he cleared his throat and told Hermione,

"We'll Confound them into thinking we've already paid for a room. There is no room for scruples tonight, Hermione. You'll tolerate the thievery."

She huffed but nodded. She didn't have a choice. She knew that. Tom tucked his wand away and walked with Hermione into the grand marble lobby. This was a massive, elegant, classical space filled with arches and columns, and Tom had to admit he was impressed. He raised his eyebrows as they approached the check-in desk, and he said softly to Hermione,

"Fine choice."

"It was the only place I could think of that hadn't been taken over by the War Department and… anyway." Hermione shut her eyes for a moment as they walked up to the desk. "Hello."

"Good evening. Checking in?" A Muggle man in a pinstriped suit, with a trim mustache and small glasses, peered at Hermione and Tom. Hermione cleared her throat and said quite confidently,

"Mr and Mrs William Davies. We've already paid through, if you'll check your book."

"The Davies party. Hmm." The Muggle man looked down at his register, and Tom nonverbally, wandlessly cast a Confundus Charm. He compelled the man to believe he'd seen a completed booking for the Davies, paid for five nights, in a suite. The Muggle scribbled something with a pen in his register, and then he nodded politely and turned behind him for the rack of keys. He passed over a heavy key marked _215_, and he said,

"Mr and Mrs Davies, may bell services assist you this evening?"

"No, we're fine. Thank you." Tom sighed and asked, "Is there a good place to eat?"

"There are restaurants here in the hotel, sir, or you might have private dining brought to your room. Simply use the telephone in the suite to ring and request from the menu." The Muggle smiled tightly, and Tom nodded.

"Yes. Thank you." He turned with Hermione and walked in silence to the bank of lifts. They rode up to the third level and moved quietly to their suite. Hermione locked the door and began warding it up from the inside as Tom's stomach grumbled.

"We need food," he complained, but as she stood with her wand aimed at the door, she flashed him an exasperated look and exclaimed,

"Tom Riddle! We have far more important things to worry about right now than eating! Like, for example, why it is that Walburga Black turned up at that wedding remembering that you'd Obliviated her! I'm warding this place up in case the Ministry comes calling. Would you care to help?"

"Of course." Tom rose and pulled out his wand. He wasn't thinking clearly, he realised. He licked his lips and began stalking around the suite.

"_Protego Totalum. Salvio Hexia. Muffliato. Repello Muggletum. Repello Inimica. Protego Totalum._"

Soon enough, the two of them had the place warded up so tightly that no enemy would have been able to come in. An hour later, Tom and Hermione sat nervously on the divan in the suite's sitting area, sipping on tap water in little glasses. Hermione's leg bounced as she stared straight ahead and murmured,

"Someone put the idea into Walburga's head. Someone implanted the idea of you Obliviating her. She didn't remember it on her own. Someone altered her memory."

"Abraxas," Tom said numbly. "He's been visiting her. He wanted to be with her. The two of them suspected you. Abraxas is a Pureblood from old money; perhaps he harbours jealousy and suspicion of me."

"Abraxas." Hermione tipped her head. She turned to look at Tom and seemed sceptical. "He has seemed so very loyal to you. And he's mad for Perla Parkinson. I don't see the motive for him wanting to destroy you."

"I know someone who wants to destroy me, but I can't see how she would have…" Tom frowned all of a sudden, thinking of the dark-skinned witch who had accosted him in the Wizengamot and at the Leaky Cauldron. She was a Pureblood, too, a member of the Sacred Twenty-Eight, but she'd been a good friend of Albus Dumbledore's, and Dumbledore had warned her not to trust Tom Riddle. Tom stared at Hermione and said firmly,

"Maya Shacklebolt."

"You think Maya Shacklebolt did this?" Hermione sipped her water and gave a disbelieving little scoff. "What, she interrogated Abraxas Malfoy and visited Walburga Black and altered her memory?"

"Yes," Tom insisted. Hermione scowled.

"Why? Because she doesn't like your style in the Wizengamot?"

"Because Dumbledore warned her against me," Tom said, narrowing his eyes. "And because she seems hellbent on destroying me. And I've got another idea, Hermione. I think Maya Shacklebolt has more up her sleeve than we've known so far. We've seen photographs. We've received letters. Things from other threads, other timelines. What if Maya Shacklebolt -"

"You think Albus Dumbledore… in some other sideways existence… instructed Maya to derail your Ministry career?" Hermione set down her glass of water. "Why? Dumbledore seemed very clear in his communications to us that our path is exactly correct, that you becoming the Minister for Magic is exactly what's meant to happen, that us having a baby called Shepherd is exactly what's supposed to come to pass. We're exactly where we ought to be. So why would someone instruct Maya Shacklebolt - or anyone else - to throw it all off by making Walburga Black come striding into the wedding as a madwoman?"

"I don't know," Tom sighed. "I don't… I don't know."

He licked his lips, shaking his head. "I have a very bad feeling about Maya Shacklebolt. About Walburga Black. As though what happened at that wedding is throwing off this timeline on purpose. I don't know why. I feel as though a seismic alteration has taken place, and I don't know how to fix it. Do you not suppose that I _want_ that newspaper article to be real? Do you not suppose that I _want_ to be the Minister for Magic, that I _want_ for you to be a Department Head who's just given birth to our first child? Of course I want all of that. But how is that going to happen now?"

His eyes actually burned a little then, and Hermione whispered,

"When Walburga Black grabbed at your robes and said it was you who had ruined her mind, all I could think of was Shepherd. Like we'd lost him in that instant."

"No. I refuse…" Tom stared at Hermione and chomped his lip. "You saw photographs of Ronald Weasley happy and healthy with someone else. You saw a newspaper article of a good future for us. Dumbledore wrote time and again that you've come back here for a reason, that you're exactly where you're meant to be. I will not allow what happened with Walburga to ruin this. I'm going to the Ministry to sort this all out."

"Tom! No!" Hermione grabbed at his arm as he started to rise. She yanked him back onto the divan. "They'll ask her again, and she'll just insist that she and Abraxas figured out that I'm a time traveller. She'll tell them that you Obliviated her. And you can try and argue all you want that she's a madwoman, Tom, but they'll throw you into Azkaban if you go marching in there right now and try to convince them to listen to you. We _need_ to figure this out."

Somehow, over the next three hours, they listened to the Wizarding Wireless and sipped water, and then they decided to get into pyjamas and climb into the bed. They lay next to one another and stared at the ceiling for a good long while in complete silence, until Hermione finally murmured,

"Tomorrow, we'll disguise ourselves and sneak into the Ministry. I'm something of an expert at sneaking into the Ministry. It'll be easier given that we're employees; we just need to Transfigure our features and -"

"I'll kill whoever did this to us," Tom said firmly. Hermione let out a shaking sigh from beside him.

"Please don't talk like that."

"You know what I'm capable of," he spat. He turned his head to look at her. "I don't just wipe minds and Confound people, Hermione Granger. I _kill_ people. And I will kill the person who is responsible for derailing the path I had intended on following."

Hermione shut her eyes and whispered, "I'm going to sleep."

It took a very long time, but eventually his heart slowed, and his breath deepened, and Tom fell into the abyss of a dark dream in which his wand flashed green with Maya Shacklebolt and Walburga Black and Abraxas Malfoy and other victims at its tip.

* * *

"Tom."

He was being violently shaken awake, and he grunted as he rolled over to face Hermione. He pushed himself up onto his elbow, and he frowned as he blinked his eyes open. This wasn't the bedroom from the suite in the Hotel Russell, was it? This was a dark brown paneled bedchamber with hunter green velvet curtains and a four-poster bed.

Where _were_ they?

"Tom." Hermione was panicked beside him. She flew out of the bed and grabbed her wand, aiming it at the bedroom door. "Something's happened. We've… we've moved."

"I can see that," Tom said. He moved with more caution, grasping his own wand and padding out of the bed and over the Turkish rug on the ground. He squared his jaw and followed Hermione to the bedroom door. The two of them walked slowly out of the bedroom with their wands extended, and they came out into an elegant cream-coloured parlour attached to a beautiful medium-blue dining room. Hermione whispered in a shaking voice,

"_Homenum Revelio._"

There was a little yip, and then the sound of footsteps running toward them. Hermione adjusted herself into a fighting stance, and Tom tightened his grip on his wand, prepared to strike. But then a House-Elf rounded the corner from the dining room into the parlour, and it bowed low.

"Good morning!" The House-Elf's voice was clear and contented. "May I get you tea this morning? Minister Tom, sir, you look like you could use a good cup of oolong, sir, yes you could. Straight away, straight away."

The House-Elf tottered off, and Hermione whirled around, staring wide-eyed at Tom. _Minister._ He watched Hermione's eyes water, and then her lips parted and shook. She finally called out,

"What is the date today?"

Her eyes were locked onto Tom's as the House-Elf cheerfully cried back from the kitchen,

"Why, today is the First of May, 1952, Madam Granger. And a fine day it is, eh?"

Hermione touched her fingers to her lips, her hand visibly shaking with shock. Tom cleared his throat and called,

"Two cups of oolong, then."

**Author's Note: DRAMAAAA. So, maybe they were where they needed to be, and what happened with Walburga needed to happen? But are they actually in the same lateral timeline, or have they shifted? Will we get an explanation for what happened with Walburga? (Yes, we will.) He's the Minister now, and they've got a House-Elf - what will life be like in this new timeline? So much more to unpack! Thanks for reading and reviewing.**


	9. New

"Gronky," Tom said meaningfully, for he'd dipped into the House-Elf's head and derived its name, "Where is the morning's copy of the _Prophet?_"

"On the table as always, Minister Tom!" said the House-Elf happily. "Anything else, sir, madam?"

"Erm… no. Thanks." Hermione numbly walked over to the dining room table and sat with Tom. There were two plates of eggs and rashers with tomato, and as Hermione sat, Tom could see that her hands were shaking like mad.

"Here's the newspaper," Hermione said, passing the _Daily Prophet_ to Tom. He took the folded paper and cleared his throat as he sipped his juice and then read softly to Hermione,

"_MINISTER RIDDLE SIGNS LAW PROTECTING MERPEOPLE._ Minister Riddle. That's me. I'm the Minister for Magic here, Hermione."

"Tom." She shut her eyes and touched at her forehead. He gulped and kept reading.

"_A new law was signed by Minister Tom Riddle, who has now been in office for a very successful four months. The law, entitled the Merpeople Protection Act, or MPA, ensures that Merpeople are shielded from Muggle and wizarding fishing efforts and other intrusions into their waters. A small squad of witches and wizards will be deployed to patrol waters inhabited by Merpeople to check for violations of the law. The new legislation is part of the ongoing effort by the freshly-installed Head of the Department of the Control and Regulation of Magical Creatures, Madam Hermione Granger, the wife of the Minister. Madam Granger draughted the legislation and has pushed for greater cooperation between Beings and wizards since being placed into her office. When asked about the legislation for the protection of the Merpeople, Madam Granger stated that she was 'elated to see ever-increasing friendship in the magical community.'"_

Tom set down the newspaper and took a bite of egg. He felt quite anxious for a moment, shutting his eyes and whispering,

"It is strange."

"Tom, I can't do this." Hermione's glass clattered as she set it back down on the table. Tom shoveled more egg into his mouth, and then he set his fork down and insisted,

"We ought to go into our Ministry offices and try to orient ourselves."

"What's happened, Tom?" Hermione demanded. Her cheeks went hot. She shook her head. "We've moved forward in time. That's obvious. But have we come sideways, or purely linearly? What happened with Walburga? Very evidently, whatever motion happened undid the damage the… the… Walburga _incident_ did to our reputations."

"Yes, that much is obvious," Tom huffed. "I have no idea what's happened, Hermione. I'm not sure why you'd want to go back to a time and place where I'd been fingered for Obliviating someone who had pegged you as a time traveller and -"

"We need to tread carefully," Hermione said, her voice soft. "We have been moved, however deliberately. Somehow, we have been moved away from a situation that appeared dire and treacherous. We have been moved forward in time to a place where you are already the Minister for Magic, where I am a Department Head. How can we not proceed with extreme caution? Something is terribly amiss."

Tom knew she was right. Dumbledore had given them many communications stating they were where they were meant to be. But now they'd been moved. Something had gone wrong with Walburga in 1947, derailing Tom's plans in that timeline. He'd had an enemy there in Maya Shacklebolt. And then he and Hermione had fallen asleep and woken up in 1952, with a newspaper announcing new legislation he'd made as the Minister for Magic. They had a luxury home and a House-Elf. Something had hurtled them through time and space, just like Hermione had been brought back to Tom. Of course he was suspicious; he'd be a fool not to be suspicious. But why would he want to go back to the place where Walburga had accused him at Cygnus and Druella's wedding? Why would he want to waste five years climbing to become the Minister, when he was already in that position here?

"I want to at least go to the Ministry and see what's going on," he said firmly to Hermione. "It isn't that I don't care why we've been moved; it's that I can't bring myself to mentally fight against the idea of having been moved. It feels…. Right, somehow. It feels like we were meant to wake up here. We're in the right place."

"We're in the right place?" Hermione repeated disbelievingly. She stared at him like he had three heads. Tom stuffed more eggs into his mouth and gulped down some juice. He nodded.

"I'm the Minister for Magic here. You're getting your legislation passed. Perhaps Shepherd will be born here."

Hermione's face shifted then, as if she were considering that idea. Tom quickly did the maths and realised that Shepherd would be conceived in the next few months, if he were to be born in May of 1953. His mind was flooded with the concept of a newborn, smelling clean and mewling for milk. He imagined Hermione with a baby cradled in her arms. He thought of the two of them raising a little child. Was that what he'd wanted? Not as Head Boy at Hogwarts, certainly. When he'd been leading his Knights of Walpurgis, he'd not wanted life as a father in his future. He hadn't wanted it working at Borgin and Burkes. But things were different now.

Hermione and Tom made their way to the wood-paneled bedroom after breakfast. They pulled clothes out from the wardrobes along the walls and dressed. Hermione yanked on elegant midnight blue robes cinched at the waist with a thick black leather belt, looking exceptionally witchy and very professional. Tom dressed in a black tie and crisp white shirt with a flowing black robe over it.

"Gronky," Hermione called as she pinned up her hair in the bathroom, "Erm… remind me… what is our address? I'm having a _blank moment,_ as it were."

She flashed Tom a glance, and Tom put his lips into a flat line. Gronky tottered into the bedroom and said merrily,

"Why, we're in the Abingdon Villas townhouse, in Kensington, Madam! So happy to be here, I am."

Hermione nodded and poked a few more pins into her hair. She seemed to be studying her toiletries, the fact that she had luxurious creams and makeup in the bathroom like she'd been living there for a long time. Tom waited for her to come back out to the bedroom, and when she snared her arms up around him, he bent to kiss her softly, and he murmured,

"We make a habit of Apparating whilst kissing. Now isn't the time for that, I don't suppose."

"No, I don't suppose so," Hermione said in a trembling voice. "Tom, I still don't understand."

She held Tom's hands and let her breath mingle with his for a long moment. Finally, she whispered,

"Reassure me that we're not walking into a trap."

Tom let out a little breath, knowing he couldn't promise her anything at all. But he murmured, "We're meant to be here."

He kissed her again, more firmly this time, and when they parted, he held her hand and Disapparated. When they came to, they were in the Atrium of the Ministry of Magic, surrounded by shiny black tile. People seemed to immediately realise that the Minister for Magic had just Apparated into the space. Witches and wizards immediately began giving Tom deferential obeisances, dipping into curtsies and bows as they shuffled about the Atrium.

"Good morning, Minister Riddle," said a passing witch.

"Minister Riddle, sir." A wizard in billowing purple robes bowed low and continued on his way.

"Minister. Madam Granger," said a wizard Tom immediately recognised as Rex Rosier. Tom immediately snuck into the man's mind and searched for Walburga Black, trying to pull out any notion that Tom had been accused of Obliviating Walburga. But he found no such memory, no idea that Tom Riddle had been publicly fingered as the assailant who had destroyed Walburga's mind. In fact, Rex Rosier didn't seem to have any notable recollections of Walburga Black at all.

"Interesting," Tom mused, and Hermione asked from beside him,

"Do they know? About what we left behind?"

"It doesn't seem so," Tom said quietly back. He kissed her cheekbone and said, "Go to your office and do a good day's work. I'll see you at the townhouse for dinner. Be safe, Hermione."

"Tom." She squeezed at his hand and walked reluctantly away. He waited for a long moment, looking around the Atrium as people nodded and greeted him in passing. Then he pinched his lips and stalked off to the bank of lifts.

* * *

In the Minister for Magic's office, Tom was greeted warmly by Priscilla Rosier, who had evidently decided against both marriage and a move to France. She was working now as the Minister's personal secretary, a fact which Tom found most interesting. He let Priscilla guide him toward his office as she chattered.

"So your day begins with a meeting with the Head of International Magical Cooperation… regarding Japanase Beast part imports, I believe, sir. Then you've got time for paperwork before lunch, then a meeting with the Head of Magical Games and Sports to discuss the recent spate of egregious injuries in professional Quidditch."

Tom was rather amazed. He'd passed no fewer than ten employees in the Minister of Magic's office. But none of them seemed struck by his appearance, which surely must be a bit younger than a twenty-five-year-old him would have seemed. Whatever iteration of him that had been here before seemed to have Vanished into thin air. What had happened to the Minister who had been here the day before? Where was the Minister for Magic from yesterday? Where had that Tom Riddle gone? Into the ether? Into Non-Being?

Feeling quite unnerved, Tom settled into his office and just breathed for a few moments, staring at a slick tiled wall. After a long time of him considering what had happened to him and Hermione, there was knocking on his office door, and he cleared his throat roughly and called,

"Enter."

The door opened, and Priscilla Rosier said politely, "Charleston Avery for you, Minister Riddle."

"Thank you, Priscilla." Tom wasn't sure whether he called her by her given name or as _Miss Rosier. _She seemed untroubled, so he just sighed and nodded. Charleston Avery, a man in his forties who was distantly related to Tom's old school friend, came waddling into Tom's office and bowed reverently.

"Sir," he said in an amiable voice, "May I sit?"

"Of course." Tom was struck by the deferential nature of all his interactions so far. He and Avery spent the next twenty minutes discussing Japanese Kappa bone imports. The bones were being used in Potions-making, and Avery wanted to enact tarriffs to enhance the British economy.

"Will this anger the Japanese Ministry?" Tom asked lightly. "It would seem as though placing a tax on one of their exclusive products would put them in a bit of a tiff against us."

"I admit there is some retaliation involved," Avery sniffed. "They began taxing all English magical tea imports last year, sir. To protect that Japanese magical tea farmers. It hasn't hurt us too badly, but, still…"

"A tarriff on Japanese Kappa parts seems more than reasonable if they're taxing our tea," Tom nodded. "Tit for tat. Be certain that, if they drop the tea tarriff, we do the same on Beast part imports. We want to stay friendly. I'll sign whatever you bring to me."

"Yes, sir. Thank you, sir." Avery pulled out a leather folio then, extracting a parchment with a draught of the tarriff for Tom to sign. As Tom dipped his quill into ink, he sniffed and asked Avery,

"When is the last time you and I spoke, Charleston?"

Charleston Avery blinked and shook his head. "Erm… perhaps three weeks ago, sir. About the Italian textile trading agreement."

"Mmm. And nothing's changed." Tom narrowed his eyes. Avery seemed very confused, shaking his head again.

"No, sir. Nothing's changed."

Tom nodded and passed back the signed parchment. "Thank you, Mr Avery. Dismissed."

That felt good, he realised. Dismissing someone like that, exerting authority like that. It felt good. He was flush with power as he held another meeting about overly aggressive Bludgering in professional Quidditch, and by the time he'd finished a cup of tea at the end of the day, he realised that he rather liked being the Minister for Magic.

He went back to the townhouse in Kensington and found Hermione pacing anxiously in the parlour. Her elegant midnight blue robes swished about her as she tossed her hands up and said nervously,

"I had a meeting with a representative from Gringotts to discuss relations between Goblins and wizards. Apparently, these meetings have been happening once a week for a month. Hafrook, the Goblin, acted as though we were picking up right where we'd left off."

She stopped and stalked over to Tom, clutching at the front of his robes and glaring up into his eyes. Her honey-coloured gaze glistened like she was about to cry, and she demanded,

"What's happened to us? To the versions of us that were here before? Have we moved sideways? Us and the… the other ones of us? What's happened?"

"I don't know," Tom confessed, "but I can't pretend to be angry about being the Minister for Magic in a luxury townhouse where you are my wife and nobody's accusing me of a crime, Hermione. I can't pretend to be angry that we might have Shepherd here. How could I possibly begin to -"

"Tom, something catastrophic has occurred and you're acting like it's meant to be," Hermione choked out. He shook his head and brushed his thumb under her eye.

"All of it is meant to be," he said quietly. "You coming back from that New Year's Eve. Coming to work at Borgin and Burkes. Me starting out as an Obliviator. Us getting married. The disaster with Walburga. Us falling asleep there and waking up here. The newspaper article about Shepherd. It's all meant to be. Isn't it?"

"I don't know," Hermione said softly. "Maybe Dumbledore's just a liar, like he always was."

"Or maybe you are precisely where you are meant to be," Tom said. "Come eat dinner."

They managed their way through roast lemon chicken with potatoes and carrots cooked by Gronky, who stood nearby ready to fetch anything Tom or Hermione needed. Hermione eyed the House-Elf and asked in a cautious voice,

"Gronky, do you like working for us?"

"Oh, yes, Madam! Gronky wouldn't have it any other way. Gronky adores her family." Gronky made an awkward little curtsy and a happy little noise, and Tom flashed Hermione a serious look. Hermione sighed. He knew she was uncomfortable with the idea of keeping a House-Elf, but this one seemed especially pleased to do Hermione's bidding.

"Thank you for dinner, Gronky," Hermione said.

"It's Gronky's pleasure as always to fill her family's bellies, Madam," said Gronky.

Hermione just pinched her lips and kept eating.

Hours later, Hermione and Tom lay in their four-poster bed facing one another, staring at one another in the darkness. Hermione nervously asked,

"What if one of us disappears from the other?"

"We're together," Tom reminded her rather sharply. He dragged his fingers over her wedding rings. They hadn't disappeared. They were still married. They'd come forward in time together, to a place where he was the Minister for Magic and she was a Department Head getting legislation passed. Walburga Black was a world away, somehow. He didn't know how. He suspected he'd find out, one way or another, though not tonight. He touched at Hermione's rings again and then kissed her forehead. She curled up against Tom and snared her leg around him as she hummed, her voice still trembling,

"We're together, you and I."

**Author's Note: Okay. So they've (sort of) settled into, or at least accepted, the idea of having moved into this existence. What will it mean for them? Will they find out about Walburga? Will they start trying to conceive Shepherd? Thanks so much for reading and reviewing.**


	10. Dossiers

Tom stared at Hermione in the darkness. He should not pry. He should stay out of her head. In the other world, in the past, they'd argued because he'd gone into her head and invaded her dreams. But right now, she was whispering his name, and she was writhing a little, and he needed to know what was going on. Was she having a nightmare? Something else? Tom frowned as Hermione's back arched a little and she mewled,

"T-Tom…"

"_Legilimens,_" Tom incanted softly.

_Tom was slamming into Hermione roughly from behind, slapping her backside with one hand whilst his other hand trailed up her back. He was filling her, stuffing her, pounding her…_

"Hermione." Tom yanked himself out of her mind, realising that she was having a sex dream. She stirred a little but didn't wake. Tom shook her shoulder and murmured firmly, "Hermione."

She gasped and sat upright, breathless and shining with sweat. She stared at Tom, who smirked at her and shook his head.

"Couldn't help myself; you were calling my name."

"I was… it was… erm…" Hermione touched at her forehead and whispered, "I dunno."

"It was erotic, is what it was." Tom felt himself start to flush a bit between his legs, and he reached up to cup Hermione's face in his hand. He pulled her back down onto the bed and whispered,

"Shall I take you, like you were dreaming of me doing?"

"Yes." Hermione kissed at Tom's bare chest. She stroked at his arm and murmured into the darkness, "I dream of you because I'm mad for you, you know."

"You are so beautiful," Tom whispered. He meant it, too. He kissed Hermione's cheek and then her lips, and he assured her, "You are the most beautiful witch in all the world, I think."

"You've got Priscilla Rosier as a secretary," Hermione pointed out, and Tom scoffed.

"And? I've got you for a wife. I am contented indeed, Hermione. Don't forget that I was a virgin on that divan in your Knockturn Alley flat. You're what I've got for experience, and I consider myself satiated by you."

"Do you?" She rolled closer to him, and he kissed her square on the mouth. She tasted like sleep, but he didn't care. He deepened the kiss, drawing her tongue into his mouth and pulling his own tongue along her lips. His hands started pushing and pulling at her nightgown, yanking at straps and helping her shuffle her way out of it. She wore no knickers, mercifully. She kicked the nightgown down below the blankets, and Tom felt her hand touch between them and cup at his cock. He hissed against her mouth, involuntarily letting out a little Parseltongue.

"_Kyossanath issossasyath._"

"You like it when I touch you." She sounded amused. He met her eyes and tipped his head, whispering,

"Yes, I like it when you touch me."

She brought her mouth near his again, and this time her hand brushed slowly against his hardened cock through his pyjama trousers as her breath mingled with his. It started to feel like they were breathing for one another, like they were one another's lungfuls of air, and he could feel the shake increasing with every exhale from her. She was becoming very aroused; he could tell. She'd been aroused in sleep and now she was really working herself up by touching him and letting her lips hover a hair's breadth from his. He grazed his teeth against her lips and just breathed, and she finally whispered,

"I want you so badly I can hardly stand it."

"What do you want, Hermione? Do you want my hands on you?" He closed a palm around her waist as if to solidify the question. He drew his fingers up along her ribs, and she sucked in a breath. "Do you want me to kiss you?"

"I want you inside of me," she replied. He smiled, snaring the fingers of his other hand into her hair and yanking her hard against him for an intense kiss. He felt her push his pyjama trousers down, and he helped her by lifting his hips and manoeuvering his hips and kicking the trousers away.

"I like this curve," he said against her mouth. He dragged his hand back and forth from her ribcage to her hip. "I like the way you curve right here."

"You… you do?" She was utterly breathless now, huffing and tossing her head back. He latched onto the skin beneath her ear and pressed his lips there, and he hummed onto her,

"I like the feel of you under my hands."

"Tom." Hermione wrapped her hand around his cock and stroked a few times, her other hand touching at his chest. Her fingers convulsed at his sternum, and he whispered,

"Your skin is as soft as velvet."

"Tom." Her hand cinched around his shaft, and her thumb glanced over his tip, making him hiss against her flesh. He needed to enter her body, he thought. He'd had enough pretense. He was aching for her, throbbing from the inside out. His ears were starting to ring a little. He was flushed hot with desire, with need. His hand migrated to her breast and compressed the soft tissue, pinching at her peaked nipple as he kissed her neck and whimpered rather helplessly,

"Hermione."

He pulled her closer, until they were wrapped up in an embrace, and he encouraged Hermione to bring her leg up and around his hip. He grasped his cock and lined up, feeling the wet heat of her entrance as he pushed in. He couldn't penetrate her deeply like this, but her breasts were smashed against his chest, and her arms were holding him close, and it felt _so good_ to be this near to her. He started to rock, to grind the two of them together, and he just kissed her through it.

After what felt like an eternity of her being snug and wet and hot around him, he pulled back from the kiss and stared into her honey-coloured eyes. He whispered in a breathless pant,

"I'm sorry for looking in your dreams."

She smirked. "I forgive you - this time - for breaking the rules."

"Well, I appreciate the absolution," he murmured, shoving his hips a bit harder and feeling so blissful that he saw spots. His eyes fluttered shut as he whispered helplessly, "I'm going to come."

"We didn't cast a contraceptive charm," Hermione noted, and Tom shook his head.

"No, we didn't."

They let that realisation sit for a long moment, and then Hermione was arching her back and grabbing rather roughly at Tom's shoulders. She moaned quite vocally, tossing her head back, and he realised that he'd made her come, grinding with her in an embrace like this. He watched her climax, watched her eyes roll back and her lips fall open, and he thought she was the most beautiful creature who had ever lived. His time traveller, his mysterious witch who had once been his enemy and was now his wife. This woman who had dropped from nowhere to be with him, who had travelled forward in time with him, who would mother his child…

It was too much. He lost himself suddenly, feeling everything draw up tightly. His skin prickled and a tight coil of satisfaction in his lower abdomen detonated into a searing blast of pleasure. His veins flared hot for a moment, and he grunted as his come burst into Hermione's body. She moaned softly as he finished inside of her, still coming down from her own high. His hips stilled against her, and then she whispered,

"I don't want you to cast contraceptive charms anymore."

"I won't," he mumbled back, still blistering from his own climax. He stayed linked with Hermione for a long time, until at last he felt his cock slip out of her and felt a stream of fluids follow. He rotated onto his back, and Hermione moved with him, apparently unable or unwilling to be parted from him. Well, good, he thought. She should stay with him forever. They were together, the two of them, after all.

* * *

"Minister Riddle? I have those dossiers you requested." Priscilla Rosier stood in the doorway of Tom's office and held an armload of brown leather folios. She walked inside when he gestured for her to do so, and she set the stack of dossiers down on his desk. "Abraxas Malfoy, Walburga Black, Cygnus Black III, Canon Nott, and Maya Shacklebolt. May I ask, sir… is there anything else you need me to do about this matter?"

She sounded awfully suspicious, so Tom cast a quick wandless Confundus Charm and convinced Priscilla Rosier that it was simply nothing at all to have obtained the Ministry files on the people in question. It was no matter, and she shouldn't concern herself with it.

"Tea, sir?" she asked, after buzzing for a moment where she stood.

"No. You may go." Tom folded his hands on his desk, and Priscilla nodded.

"You've got that meeting with Mr Malfoy in a little while, sir. I'll bring him in when he arrives."

"Very good. Thank you." Tom cleared his throat, and the instant the door shut, he opened the first folio and pulled out the dossier on Abraxas Malfoy. He read the man's date of birth, about his Hogwarts education, and then saw that he was now working in the Department of Magical Games and Sports as the Chairman of the British and Irish Quidditch League Headquarters. In 1949, he had married Perla Parkinson. They had no children. They lived in Abraxas' ancestral home, Malfoy Manor.

Tom stared at the dossier for a long moment. So Abraxas had married Perla Parkinson in 1949. Surely they had moved sideways, then. This couldn't be a completely linear progression. Or perhaps it was; he really had no idea. In any case, Abraxas had a good Ministry position, a wife whom he probably adored, and a manse. Was he friendly with Minister Tom Riddle? Tom would find out when Abraxas came for his meeting.

He pulled out the next dossier, which belonged to Walburga Black, and began reading the paragraph under the heading _RESIDENCE AT ST MUNGO'S AND DEATH._

_In 1947, Walburga Black was diagnosed with a Hexwimple Infestation that robbed her of all mental capacity. She was placed at St Mungo's Hospital on a permanent inpatient basis. Whilst a patient at the hospital, she contracted a fatal infection of unknown cause. She died as a patient of St Mungo's in January of 1948 at the age of twenty-two. A Ministry investigation was opened in response to outrage about medical mishandling of Walburga's case, but no one was found in the wrong, and her death was declared to be due to natural causes. Her body was cremated, and her ashes stored at the home of Irma and Pollux Black._

Tom gaped. Walburga Black was dead. Walburga Black was _dead_. She had been taken to hospital with a suspected Hexwimple infestation - which meant that Tom had Obliviated her in this timeline, too - but instead of ratting him out at a wedding, she'd died in the hospital. Had he murdered her? Had he arranged for her to be killed? Surely she hadn't actually died of some infectious disease at the hospital. It couldn't have been as simple as that. His heart raced a little as he shut Walburga's file and set it aside. He gulped and pulled out the next dossier, which was on Cygnus Black III.

He was married to Druella, Tom saw, and was working at the Ministry. After the death of his sister, he'd gone on a long sojourn around the world with Druella, travelling for six months on leave from the Ministry. In September of 1951, Druella had birthed their first child, a daughter called Bellatrix.

Tom swallowed hard. He knew full well who Bellatrix was from Hermione's recollections of her lived experience. Bellatrix had been Lord Voldemort's sworn soldier, his fiercest fighter. She'd been a little in love with him, Hermione had thought. But here she was just a baby. She wasn't the wicked woman who had carved scars into Hermione's flesh yet. And Hermione's scar from Bellatrix had Vanished just as surely as had her engagement ring from Ron Weasley. The part of Hermione's world where Bellatrix Lestrange would be a torturess serving a white-faced Lord Voldemort would not come to pass. This infant child of Druella's and Cygnus' was of no consequence to Tom Riddle. He had no use for her, not here.

He moved on to the last dossier. Maya Shacklebolt. He opened the file and began to read. Maya Shacklebolt had been born into a Sacred Twenty-Eight family but had been sorted into Hufflepuff at Hogwarts and had spent her Ministry career fighting hard for the rights of Muggle-borns and Muggles. She had spent some time at Hogwarts teaching Muggle Studies and then had moved into a bureaucratic position. But, Tom read, when Minister Riddle had taken the reins, Maya Shacklebolt had resigned in protest from the Wizengamot and from the Ministry, insisting that he was a radical hellbent on steering the Ministry of Magic in the wrong direction. Maya Shacklebolt had retired to the Isle of Man and had not been seen in public since two weeks after Tom Riddle had taken office.

Tom had to wonder whether Maya Shacklebolt had left of her own volition, or whether she'd been pushed out by him or Hermione or someone close to him. Had she been Imperiused into leaving? Had she disappeared from the public eye willingly? She didn't seem like the type to go quietly. Tom strongly suspected that Maya Shacklebolt had been _handled_ straight out of the way.

There was knocking on his door, and Tom rushed to toss all of the dossiers into a large drawer beside his desk. He shut the drawer and then called,

"Enter."

The door to the office opened, and Priscilla Rosier gestured for Abraxas Malfoy to enter. Abraxas looked a few years older than he'd seemed the last time Tom had laid eyes upon him; his face was just a little more drawn. He bowed respectfully at the door and said quietly,

"Minister."

Tom sat up straight, astonished to see such deference from his old friend. He cleared his throat and wandlessly pushed out the chair opposite him.

"Abraxas. Sit."

"Tea, gentlemen?" Priscilla called, and Abraxas answered,

"I'm fine. Thank you, Miss Rosier."

Tom blinked, remembering when Abraxas had been enamoured with Priscilla. He rather pointedly asked Abraxas,

"How is Perla?"

"She is… getting discouraged," Abraxas said, and Tom poked straight into Abraxas' mind. He was socked with the image of pretty Perla Parkinson sobbing about a miscarriage. Tom yanked out of Abraxas' head and pinched his lips. He nodded.

"It will happen, I'm sure."

"Her sister is due any day now," Abraxas pointed out. "That doesn't help."

"No, assuredly not," Tom said. "Hermione and I would like to visit with you and Perla soon."

"Again?" Abraxas blurted, and Tom felt from his thoughts that the four of them had just gotten together a week earlier. Abraxas quickly corrected himself and said, "Of course, we'd love to have you at the Manor, sir. Always."

"Erm… a dinner party. For everyone. All the old crowd," Tom said. "I'd like to see everyone. Nott, Avery, Lestrange. Cygnus. Mulciber, Yaxley. Crabbe, Goyle. And you and Perla."

"Yes, of course. I'll get something scheduled immediately, sir." Abraxas nodded vigorously. "I did, as it happens, come to talk to you about the Quidditch World Cup. It's in Italy this year, sir, and many British Quidditch fans will be attending. I thought perhaps the Ministry ought to make and publish pamphlets, advisories for safe travel to the match. It's quite a complicated thing, going to a Quidditch World Cup. We wouldn't want anyone Splinching, or breaching the International Statute of Secrecy, or getting badly injured in a drunken duel, or -"

"Yes, quite so. Collaborate on this project with the Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes and with International Cooperation. And Magical Law Enforcement. Get input from as many sources as possible. Draught up a good pamphlet and get me a sample to sign off on before we go to print. We'll send one by owl to every wizarding household."

"Thank you, Minister." Abraxas stared at Tom for a moment and then said, "You know, Tom, you were born for this. Leadership."

"Do you think so?" Tom raised his eyebrows. "I look forward to that dinner party, Abraxas. Hermione does so enjoy seeing Perla."

Abraxas looked almost confused for a moment, but then he smiled a bit and nodded. He rose, bowed, and backed out of the office. Tom opened the drawer beside his desk and pulled out all the leather folios he'd stuffed in there, deciding to more carefully study the dossiers on his friends and enemies.

**Author's Note: No contraceptive charms! Walburga is dead! Abraxas is organizing a dinner party in this timeline! Thanks so much for reading and reviewing. Your feedback is highly valued.**


	11. Roast

"How was work today?" Tom knotted his tie and cinched it, staring at his reflection in the bathroom mirror. From out in the bedroom, Hermione called,

"A Centaur actually communicated with the Centaur Liaison Office."

Tom startled. He combed at his dark waves and said,

"No Centaur has ever used the Centaur Liaison Office, have they?"

"Not until now," Hermione affirmed. "The Centaur who sent a letter - most beautifully written, I must say - is called Brosnan. Anyway, he wrote because he felt that there was finally a witch in the Ministry with the _true rights of Centaurs in her heart._ He wrote merely to open a channel of communication."

Tom smirked. He felt a surge of pride for Hermione. He stalked toward the bathroom door and leaned against the doorjamb.

"Did you write back?"

She was buttoning up an elegant black silk dress, and she looked very pretty. He scanned his eyes up and down her form as she adjusted the bodice of the dress and said,

"I did write back, personally assuring Brosnan that Madam Hermione Granger is a friend to the Centaurs and will always look out for their interests at the Ministry. It felt like a breakthrough, Tom. In the old life I lived, the only time the Centaurs… it was only when we were…"

She went red-cheeked then, and he knew why. He didn't even need to peer into her mind to know what she meant. It was only when the Centaurs were working against Lord Voldemort that they had peered with the wizards. He nodded and assured Hermione,

"This time around, you'll win their friendship the right way. Because you are very good at your job, Hermione."

She chomped her lip and smiled a little. "I'd like to begin draughting legislation on House-Elf rights. So that you can get it all signed into law sooner rather than later."

"Yes. Of course. I'm not sure what the public opinion is on that here, but I find I don't much care." Tom sniffed and tipped his chin up. "Walburga isn't here to spoil any S.P.E.W. galas, so."

"No. We don't need fundraising parties for S.P.E.W." Hermione raised her eyebrows. "We can have laws. I want a law making it illegal to use corporal punishment on House-Elves. I'd like to draught that very quickly and have you sign it. Will you?"

He walked towards her and snaked his arms around her shoulders. He bent and touched his forehead to hers.

"Yes, of course I will. I will sign your wondrous laws, Madam Granger."

"Thank you, Minister Riddle." She leaned up to kiss him a little, and she whispered, "Want to go with me to Malfoy Manor?"

"Mmm-hmm." He tightened his grip around her, and he deepened their kiss. She laughed against him and then Disapparated, pulling him with her into the inky black yank of nothingness. They squeezed and pinched for a moment, and when they came to, they were standing on the front steps of Malfoy Manor. Tom pulled away and grinned down at Hermione, shaking his head.

"I can't be separated from you," he said. "I simply can't."

"Well, good," she murmured, taking his hand. "Walk me inside, Tom."

Dobby seemed most enthusiastically pleased to see Hermione. Dobby was quite fond of Hermione; that much was obvious. The House-Elf had apparently had years to become very friendly with the kindly Muggle-born who was polite to him. As Dobby gestured up the foyer stairs, he called,

"Do enjoy yourselves, Minister Riddle and Madam Granger. Let Dobby know if there is anything he can do to make you more comfortable whilst you are here!"

"Dobby." Hermione turned round and told him, "Thank you. So much. For everything you've… just, thank you."

Dobby looked terribly confused, but he bowed so low that he looked like he'd tip over, and then he waved at Hermione as she walked up the foyer steps with Tom. They continued down the corridor toward the sound of people chatting and laughing, and Hermione whispered,

"It's not so very different here, is it?"

"Not different enough to seem sideways, but different enough not to seem linear," Tom noted. "It's strange. I'm still not sure what to make of it."

"Madam Granger! Minister Riddle!"

They stepped into the dining room, and Abraxas immediately greeted them in a booming voice. Tom was still struck by the formality in his old friend's tone, but he bowed his head and said kindly,

"Abraxas. Thank you for having us."

"So good to see you, Perla." Hermione walked over to Perla Parkinson and kissed the other witch's cheek. Tom was immediately taken by Hermione's brazen action, as though his wife knew just how to behave in this time, with this much power. Perla grinned broadly, looking pretty in a grey dress with her hair swept back, and she said to Hermione,

"Madam Granger. I heard tell that a Centaur wrote into the Ministry. Is it true?"

The room went very quiet then, and everyone, from Lestrange to Avery to Nott to Goyle, was watching Hermione. Everyone seemed quite intrigued by whether or not Centaurs had made contact with the wizarding world. Hermione nodded and looked about.

"Yes," she said. "A Centaur called Brosnan wrote in to open communication. It's all very formal at this point; nothing is actually _happening_, you understand. But the important thing is that the Centaurs have reached out. This is a monumental step forward in relations."

"Presumably, they're feeling more comfortable than they have in the past?" suggested Cygnus Black III. Druella wasn't with him, Tom noticed. She must be at home with little Bellatrix. Hermione turned to Cygnus and said,

"If we have made the Centaurs feel at ease in communicating with us, Mr Black, then I consider that quite a victory. There have been many centuries of distrust between the wizarding world and the Centaurs, but they have so much wisdom to share with us. Are you familiar with Centaur Divination methods?"

"I confess I am not," Cygnus said. "I was a poor student of ordinary Divination at Hogwarts. Just ask the Minister."

"It's true. Cygnus never saw more than smoke in an orb or leaves in a smudge at the bottom of a cup," Tom teased. "But, then, I think we all suspected our Divination lessons were quite a load of hokum, didn't we? Eh?"

The others let out a low rumble of laughter and nodded. Hermione grinned and said,

"I used to think the same thing. That Divination was all rubbish. I used to think that nobody could ever make a real prophecy, that nobody could ever truly tell the future. The closest I came in my own studies to making predictions was with numbers, but, even then, I was always suspicious of my predictions. It wasn't until I saw firsthand that prophecies are true, that there are a great many real ones, that I came to believe in the art."

Tom froze. He stared at Hermione, right along with the others, as she continued rather bravely,

"And it wasn't until a Centaur taught me about reading the stars that I realised how much truth there was to be elucidated from the night sky. So."

"You're self-taught," Perla Parkinson noted, "but you've firsthand experience with prophecies and Centaur Astronomy? How… interesting… Madam Granger."

"She was a most dedicated student," Tom said a bit roughly. "She was wholly devoted to learning everything she could."

"She probably learnt more on her own than any of us did in seven years at Hogwarts," said Lestrange primly. "I can speak for myself, at least, when I say I was far more concerned with witches and Quidditch than with my Transfiguration lessons."

"I devoured every book I could, Mr Lestrange," Hermione said. "I learnt every spell I could. Memorised wizarding history. Thought through every theory. My mind was bent, for years on end, on becoming the very best witch I could be."

"And look at you now," Tom declared, his eyes boring into Hermione's as she stared back at him. "Wife of the Minister for Magic. Head of the Department for the Control and Regulation of Magical Creatures. Writer of new legislation… ah, yes, friends. There's to be a new law passed soon regarding House-Elves."

"The law you mentioned a few weeks ago?" Avery asked. His face lit up, and Tom felt a coil of unease in his stomach. He flicked his eyes to Hermione, but she masked her confusion and said lightly,

"Remind us what we did tell you about it, Mr Avery."

"You said it was to be a decree outlawing corporal punishment against House-Elves. I know Madam Granger's spent years working hard to get public support for it, and now it's finally to be formal legislation. Will you sign the law, Minister Riddle?" Avery smiled, and Tom's mouth fell open. He nodded and said with a dry mouth,

"Yes. I will sign it most gladly."

They ate dinner then - roast beef with mashed potato and asparagus - and Crabbe and Goyle both made off-handed mentions of wives. Pureblood witches, the both of them had snagged, and it sounded like at least Crabbe had a child. Odessa Lestrange was drinking water instead of wine, so halfway through the meal, Tom poked into her mind and surmised that she was pregnant again. Rabastan and Rodolphus were at home; this was yet another offspring. Tom cleared his throat to get Hermione's attention, and when she leaned over, he whispered into her ear,

"Odessa's expecting. Third child. She's already got Rabastan and Rodolphus."

"I see." Hermione nodded. Cygnus said rather loudly from across the table,

"Bellatrix is almost walking, Abraxas. Can you believe it? She's only eight months old. Just picks herself up and heaves herself along furniture and things. She throws little balls of light from her palms, too. Full of magic, that little viper."

"Give Druella my best," Tom said, and Cygnus bowed his head.

"She would have been here, sir, but she -"

"I understand." Tom nodded. He glanced over to Hermione, who was staring at her plate of food. Tom didn't need Legilimency to know that Hermione was considering the fact that Bellatrix, who would become a traumatic enemy in Hermione's lived experience, had been born here. She was a baby, crawling around on furniture and throwing around balls of light. Tom cleared his throat and asked Perla Parkinson,

"How's your sister holding up?"

He realised at once that he'd made a mistake in asking that question. Perla's face fell, and she reached for her glass of wine and took a very large swig. She set the glass down and said,

"She's well. Thank you, Minister."

"Do let me know when she's had the baby so we can send a gift," Tom said quietly, and Perla nodded.

"I will, sir."

He felt like a boat at sea then as people began to discuss the upcoming Quidditch World Cup. Abraxas was murmuring to Crabbe and Goyle about the pamphlet he was going to develop to prepare people for travel to the event, and down the table, Nott and Lestrange were excitedly discussing whether it would be South Africa or Brazil to make it into the match. Avery kept looking up from his meal and staring at Hermione, and Tom furrowed his brow. He peeked into the man's mind with Legilimency and was instantly socked with a strong thought.

_She's intelligent and pretty. He's the luckiest man in the world. Why can't I get a wife like that?_

"Avery." Tom licked his lips and waited for Avery's gaze to meet his. Avery's cheeks went red, as if he knew he'd been caught thinking about Hermione, and he blinked. Tom raised his eyebrows and asked,

"How's Agnes Selwyn doing these days?"

"Agnes Selwyn, sir?" Avery coughed into a fist and shook his head. "Erm… well, if I'm not mistaken, she left Hogwarts about two years ago. I think she's working as an editor at the _Daily Prophet._"

"Not married?" Tom reached for his wine. Avery scowled, and Tom thought that he should know if Agnes Selwyn was married. Avery shook his head again and said,

"N-No, sir. I don't suppose she's married. I think I would have gone to a wedding for her."

"Quite so. I wonder that you don't pursue her. The two of you seem like such a fine fit." Tom shrugged. "Pretty young witch. Bookish. She was a Ravenclaw, wasn't she? Very intelligent. Those lovely blue Selwyn eyes. Yes, I think she'd be marvelous for you, Avery. You ought to write to her."

"Do you think so?" Avery bowed his head. "Perhaps I shall."

Hermione shifted in her chair beside Tom. She was no fool. She knew exactly what was going on. She sighed and then asked Avery,

"Would you like me to visit her at the _Daily Prophet _office and suggest that you and she might have dinner with Tom and me at our flat?"

"What a fine idea, Hermione." Tom nodded, smirking at her. She smiled back and took a bite of roast. Avery looked up, seeming surprised.

"Erm… if you wouldn't mind, Madam Granger. That would be… I would be most grateful."

"It's no trouble at all. We would love to host you and Agnes. Wouldn't we, Tom?"

"We'd be very pleased." Tom raised his wine glass towards Avery and then sipped.

The night dragged to a close, and as Hermione said her farewells to everyone, Tom walked over to Abraxas and said in a hushed voice,

"I didn't mean to upset Perla."

"She's awfully touchy right now, My Lord." Abraxas let out a long breath, and Tom froze. He raised his eyes to Abraxas' and asked softly,

"What did you call me?"

Abraxas' pale cheeks coloured. "It's what you suggested a few weeks ago. It was difficult to tell if you were kidding or not."

Tom blinked. "I suggested that you call me _My Lord._"

Abraxas huffed a breath. "You said it might be more fitting for the Minister for Magic to be addressed as _My Lord_, and that you -"

"I said that," Tom whispered, just a little bit frantically. Abraxas seemed terribly confused. He nodded.

"Not that I mind, you understand. It just seems like perhaps it's a bit… erm… _much._ For someone so new to the role, so young. I wouldn't want your public image to suffer."

"No. Quite right." Tom looked over to where Hermione was standing with Lestrange and Goyle, talking animatedly about Centaur Astronomy. How many others had he asked to call him _My Lord?_ No one else had done it. Had he tested the waters with Abraxas? It wasn't as though he could ask himself; that version of himself had gone from this time and place. He pinched his lips and said to Abraxas,

"_Minister _or _Sir_ will do fine for now."

"Yes, sir," Abraxas said heavily. "Thank you for coming to dinner, Minister Riddle."

"Thank you for having us, Abraxas. I know who my true friends are." Tom tipped his head and glanced to where Perla was standing rather sadly on her own. "Be kind to your wife. Her heart is aching."

"Yes, sir." Abraxas bowed, quite reverently. Tom called out,

"Hermione. Time to go."

"We'll talk more about this some other time. See you." Hermione waved to Lestrange and Goyle, who both seemed utterly struck by her. She walked around the table and let Tom wrap her up in his arm as he led her out of the dining room. They went down the corridor in silence, and when they Disapparated from the front of Malfoy Manor and came to in their townhouse, Hermione stared up at Tom and immediately asked,

"What's wrong?"

"I think I did something stupid, but I can't tell how stupid it was," Tom said. Hermione looked confused. Tom gulped and confessed, "Abraxas says I suggested calling me _My Lord._"

"Oh." Hermione's thick brows furrowed. "That's… surprising."

"So it is." Tom chewed a lip. He paced a little and then said, "They're all expecting your House-Elf legislation. They're all ready for it."

"Yes, they are." Hermione wrung her hands together. "If I get something draughted in the next few days, you'll sign it?"

"Of course I will," Tom said gruffly. "And go visit Agnes Selwyn. I want to get her with Avery sooner rather than later. He wants you, and I won't have that."

Hermione scoffed quite loudly. Tom stopped his pacing and frowned at her.

"Something funny?"

"Yes. Avery wanting me is rather amusing. Not to be cruel." Hermione shrugged. "I remember when he danced with me and stepped on my feet."

Tom narrowed his eyes. "I don't think it's very funny for other men to desire my wife."

"I'm sure loads and loads of witches are in ardent want of the handsome, brilliant young Minister for Magic," Hermione assured him. Tom threw his hands up and let out a noise.

"And? What if they are? They can't have me. Only _you_ can have me. I am _yours_, and you are _mine._ Aren't you?"

Hermione raised an eyebrow and touched at her wedding rings. She nodded.

"Yes, Tom Riddle," she said softly. "I am yours, and you are mine. Let's get to bed. I've got a law to write in the morning."

**Author's Note: Thank you very much for reading and reviewing.**


	12. Elves

"Why, Madam Granger. Do come in." Tom smirked as Hermione walked into his office. She held a leather folio and wore crisp purple robes, and as she sat in the chair opposite him, Priscilla Rosier asked,

"Would you like tea, Madam Granger?"

"Yes. Oolong, please." Hermione smiled a little at Priscilla. Tom curiously peered into Priscilla's head and felt a strong pulse from her.

_Lucky wench. Bet he's good in bed. He seems like he's good in bed. Seems like he's probably romantic, too._

"Two cups of oolong, Priscilla." Tom raised his eyebrows, and Priscilla bowed her head as she backed out of the office. Tom cleared his throat and said to Hermione, "I'm going to sack her and replace her."

Hermione shifted a little. "Why? Seems like she does a fine job."

"I'd prefer a middle-aged man with a wife and two children as my assistant." Tom narrowed his eyes. Hermione let out a strangled little sound and shook her head.

"I'm not jealous. I know where I stand."

"You've brought me something." Tom changed the subject, and Hermione instantly placed the leather folio she was carrying on his desk. It was emblazoned with the seal of the Department for the Control and Regulation of Magical Creatures. Tom opened the brown leather folio and pulled out the parchments inside. He brought them closer and began to read Hermione's neat script aloud.

"_THE HOUSE-ELVES' CORPOREAL RIGHTS ACT of 1952. An Act to regulate House-Elves' welfare through the Prohibition of corporal punishment by witches and wizards._"

He paused, looking up and curling his lips. Priscilla Rosier came back in then with a tea cart, and she poured two cups of Oolong for Hermione and Tom.

"Sugar or milk?" she asked. Hermione used tongs to drop a sugar cube into her own tea, but Tom took his straight and sipped a little, pushing the saucer aside as he continued reading.

"_The governing body with the authority to enact and enforce this Act shall be the British Ministry for Magic. Its implementation shall be delegated to the offices of the Department of the Control and Regulation of Magical Creatures. Offences in violation of this Act shall be referred to the Department of Magical Law Enforcement._"

"Too much?" Hermione asked, but Tom shook his head and insisted,

"Just right. _Any witch or wizard who imposes corporal punishment upon a House-Elf shall be held in direct violation of The House-Elves' Corporeal Rights Act of 1952. Corporal Punishment is defined as spanking, slapping, smacking, hair-pulling, kicking, pushing, punching, flicking with the fingers, whipping, paddling, use of projectiles, or use of magical spells or potions of any kind to inflict pain or bodily suffering._"

"Can you think of anything I've missed?" Hermione asked nervously. Tom gulped. Suddenly he was reminded of a particularly cruel matron at Wool's Orphanage, a nun who had smacked him across the cheek every time he'd crossed her. He could still feel the burn of the slaps. It had embittered him, he thought, to be treated that way. He read back over Hermione's detailed description of corporal punishment and imagined House-Elves being abused the way he'd been as a child. He knew some people did far worse to their Elves than had ever been done to little Tom Riddle. Did he really care? Did he actually care that people threw oil lamps at House-Elves?

Oil lamps…

"Burning," he said suddenly. "Some people burn their Elves, with matches and things like that. As a form of torture. Or with their wands. You know. Put burns on them. Or make the House-Elf iron themselves… anyway."

"Oh. Right." Hermione looked crestfallen as she took the parchment back and pulled out her wand. She magically shoved the words apart to make space, and Tom handed her an inked quill. She added the word _burning_ to the list of torturous activities witches and wizards could no longer inflict upon their House-Elves, and she handed the parchment back to Tom. He coughed quietly and then read,

"_Perpetrators will be determined to be guilty of a crime regardless of whether the House-Elf is coerced into harming his or her own self or whether the witch or wizard has directly imposed harm._ _Punitive measures will be equitable regardless of indirect versus direct violation of the Act._"

Tom pinched his lips and nodded. He sank his teeth into his lip and said,

"I think you're right to put that in there. Otherwise people will just force their Elves to harm themselves and try to get off with a small fine or something. The law is the law, and that's that."

"The law is the law," Hermione said numbly. Tom met her eyes, and she looked like she was on the verge of tears. She picked up her tea and sipped it, and when she set it down, she said softly, "I didn't think I'd ever actually see the day that you of all people signed my House-Elves' rights ideas into legislation… Tom Riddle."

"Well, today is that day." Tom sniffed and kept reading. "_House-Elves may report corporal punishment to the House-Elf Liaison Office at the Ministry of Magic. Suspected cases of abuse will be investigated by the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, and criminal charges brought where appropriate. If a witch or wizard is found in violation of this Act, the minimum punishment is to be a fine of five hundred Galleons and one year's probation, with a maximum sentence of one year in Azkaban prison._"

Tom raised his eyebrows and set down the parchment. He studied Hermione for a moment and watched her shift in her chair.

"Azkaban?"

"Well, we want to be serious," she said defensively. "That's the maximum sentence. I'm sure most people who violate the law will be fined five hundred Galleons and given a year's probation."

Tom pursed his lips and sighed. He shook his head and said, "Hermione, it was apparently a years-long struggle to win the public over to this cause at all. Now you're going to pass a law stating that people can go to Azkaban for slapping their House-Elves?"

Hermione's cheeks went scarlet. "Do you not feel that's an appropriate -"

"It doesn't matter what you and I think is an appropriate sentence," Tom insisted softly. "It matters what the public will bear. And, Hermione, you need to be reasonable here. This is absolutely groundbreaking legislation. This is the first time that House-Elves are being legally granted any real rights at all. And more laws will surely follow. Think of how far you've come from your S.P.E.W. badges at Hogwarts to this. Don't risk it by throwing Azkaban into it."

Hermione looked very angry, but she finally snatched back the parchment and used her wand to erase some writing. Then she inked up the quill in her hand and wrote something, passing the parchment back. Tom huffed a breath and read aloud,

"_If a witch or wizard is found in violation of this Act, the recommended punishment is to be a fine of one thousand Galleons and two years' probation._" He smiled a little, nodding. "Much better."

"Families who can afford House-Elves can afford a one thousand Galleon fine, but it will hurt," Hermione sniffed. "And a probation puts them on guard. That will do."

"I will very gladly sign this." Tom held out his hand, and Hermione passed back the quill he'd given her. It was a beautiful black feather with a silver nib, and as he dipped it into his inkwell, he asked quietly, "Ready?"

"Ready." Hermione's voice shook a little. Tom quirked up half his mouth at her, tipped up his chin, and said quite formally,

"Madam Hermione Granger, Head of the Department for the Control and Regulation of Magical Creatures, I thank you most heartily for draughting this revolutionary legislation, which affirms the rights of House-Elves and will vastly improve their welfare. I now sign this document and make it law. So may it be."

He touched the quill to the line below Hermione's signature on the document, just above where it read _Minister for Magic, Tom Marvolo Riddle. _He signed his name with a flourish, and he reached for the sealing wax. He used the heavy brass seal with the Minister for Magic's brand upon it, sealing the law with black wax, and he told Hermione in a very serious voice,

"Congratulations. This will be all over the newspaper in the morning."

"I only hope people take it well," Hermione said anxiously. Tom nodded and reached for her hand.

"I am so very proud of you," he told her, "and I really do love you. And I am happier than I could have ever imagined that you came back to 1947. I'm sorry that you left things behind, only I'm not very sorry at all, because here you are everything. I do hope you realise that."

Hermione's eyes watered. She rose and bowed her head, and she said quietly,

"Thank you, Tom."

"Tell me that you love me," he requested, and she raised her eyes to him and whispered,

"More than anything."

* * *

"Tom!"

Hermione swayed atop him, looking so perfect in the moonlight streaming through the window that Tom's breath caught in his chest. He gulped, but a thick knot had caught in his throat. He reached for her small waist and held onto it, watching her breasts heave as she arched her back. Her hair cascaded down around her, and her mouth fell open as she moved atop him.

"Feels too good," she whispered. "I'm going to…"

"Yes." He let his eyes flutter shut, bucking his hips up a few times. Her pelvis met his in a couple of rough knocks, and she leaned forward, falling onto her hands. She started to grind atop him then, cycling her hips forward and up, down and back. Her breath came in frantic pants as her hair fell onto Tom's chest, which was starting to glisten with sweat.

"Mmm!" She collapsed farther forward, her face burrowing into the crook of Tom's neck. She huffed and puffed against his skin, and his hands planted themselves firmly on her back as he felt her contracting around his cock. He gasped for air then, unable to think straight as he registered that she was in a moment of pure bliss. He felt everything start to tighten up; his balls were drawing near his body and his cock was going so rigid and long that it ached within her. He grunted a few times and whispered into her ear,

"Last chance for a contraceptive charm. Last chance; I mean it."

"No." She shook her head wildly. "Shepherd…"

"Not for a few months, though." Tom threw his head back against the pillow. It was too late. He couldn't stop himself from coming now. He jerked his hips up and yanked Hermione down against him, and he felt everything pumping up into her, his pleasure bursting inside his skull and coursing ferociously through his veins. He kissed Hermione's cheek and murmured, as he came down from his high,

"It'll happen the way it's meant to happen, I suppose."

After a very long while of the two of them just lying there tangled and breathing hard, Hermione rolled off of him and lay beside him on the bed. She stared at the ceiling and touched her wrist to her forehead, saying softly,

"Arden Colporter was surprisingly enthusiastic about my legislation. I don't suppose she's ever owned a House-Elf."

"Her article was certainly sympathetic to the cause." Tom smiled at Hermione, pulling a stray lock of hair away from her face. "Helps things when the press is on your side, I think."

"And the Purebloods? The ones who actually have House-Elves?" Hermione let out a hard breath and rotated her face. "Can we trust them not to abuse their servants?"

"Well, if we can't, they'll be hit with very large fines and very large probations. I don't care who they are." Tom raised his eyebrows. "If Abraxas Malfoy so much as flicks a finger on Dobby's cheek, he'll be having monthly wand checks for the next two years, and his Gringotts vault will be drained a bit. So."

"Thank you, Tom." Hermione nodded. "I mean it."

"What did you think I was going to do, not sign the law?" Tom was genuinely confused. She kept acting like he'd done her a favour, like she was surprised he'd agreed to this entire endeavour. She licked her lips and said,

"In 1947, when you expressed interest in S.P.E.W., it made me fall very hard for you. Do you know why? Because nobody's ever actually cared about it. And I don't really know if you care about House-Elves, Tom. I don't want to know. What matters is that Elvish welfare is important to me, and so you made it important to you. That matters."

"Well, it's because I love you," Tom said firmly. Hermione pushed herself up onto an elbow and stroked at his scalp, which felt very nice. Her fingernails traced his thick waves, and she whispered,

"It matters that you love me. The grey-faced monster whose Horcruxes I destroyed did not feel love. That was a different man."

"I am here. And I am the Minister for Magic. And I have signed legislation protecting House-Elves. And I am your husband. And I love you," Tom said, quite firmly. He reached for her hand and kissed her knuckles. "I don't pretend to be a good man. I've done terrible things. I don't regret enough of them. But I'll do some extraordinary things, Hermione Granger, because of you."

She leaned forward and kissed him then, and he drowned in her for a very long while.

**Author's Note: We have a bit of a time skip coming up - the next chapter will take place three months later! Who's ready for that? Tomorrow is Halloween, obviously, but I'll still try and update if I can. Thanks as always for reading and reviewing.**


	13. Photograph

_August 1952_

"Mr Malfoy is here to see you, Minister Riddle." Priscilla Rosier appeared at the entrance of Tom's office, and Tom nodded.

"Show him in, Miss Rosier."

He'd decided, at Hermione's insistence, to keep Priscilla on as his assistant, despite Priscilla's lecherous thoughts. Hermione had told Tom that, no matter what, witches were going to pine after him. The least he could do was keep on a competent secretary who was doing her job well despite wanting her boss. Tom had to admit that he admire Hermione's staunch confidence in their marriage. She wasn't threatened in the least by Priscilla, and well she shouldn't be. Hermione devoured all of Tom's attentions outside of work. She was his everything. Priscilla was nothing. Now Tom watched as Priscilla showed Abraxas Malfoy into the office, and he quirked up half his mouth.

"Three days," he said tightly, and as Abraxas came and sat opposite Tom, he huffed and said,

"I don't think I've slept in a week, Minsiter. This Quidditch World Cup has me busier than I've been in a very long time."

"Well, Portkey registrations are flooded. People are taking your travel pamphlet to heart. You've done good work on this, Abraxas."

"We'll be seated with the French and Russian delegations at the match," Abraxas said. "Are you sure you and Madam Granger want to come?"

"She's excited about coming," Tom nodded, "and I'm looking forward to meeting other Ministry heads in a friendly environment. Have you arranged for our accommodations?"

"You, Madam Granger, Perla, and I will be staying in a villa in Assisi," Abraxas confirmed. "As the official representatives of the British Ministry of Magic, we can't be camping among the throng in rural Umbria, so we'll take a Portkey from London to Assisi, then Apparate from the villa to the match."

"Very good," Tom nodded. "And we'll be with the French and the Russians during the match. Have we got translators?"

"Priscilla Rosier is coming along as our French translator, Minister." Abraxas glanced over his shoulder, as if he expected to see Priscilla there. "Antonin Dolohov will be our Russian translator. They'll both be staying in Extended tents on the campsite in Umbria."

"All right. So the British Ministry delegation will consist of six in total. I assume the French and the Russians are bringing a similar number?" Tom raised his eyebrows. Abraxas confirmed,

"As far as we know, sir, both countries are bringing between four and eight. It should be equitable."

"Very good. I'll expect the ability to meet with the Italian Minister for Magic at some point. I'll work that out with International Magical Cooperation." Tom sniffed. "What time does our Portkey leave?"

"We'll meet here, at the Minister's headquarters, at eight o'clock in the morning on Saturday," Abraxas said. "I'll have the Portkey ready to go. If you could have all of your necessary belongings in suitcases…"

"We'll have one bag with an Undetectable Extension Charm. Hermione's quite skilled with them." Tom smirked a little. He sighed and shrugged. "How's Perla doing with all of this?"

"It's been difficult, if I'm honest," Abraxas said quietly. "She's growing impatient. We're considering adoption, but it's so frowned upon in the Pureblood community."

"Have patience," Tom said. "I know that's easier said than done. I have confidence that it will happen for you both."

"Yes, Minister." Abraxas' head suddenly clanged with two words. _My Lord. _Tom had suggested them months earlier, and Abraxas had perseverated on them ever since. He'd never forgotten the way that Tom had sat him down and suggested that perhaps it might be best if people started referring to him that way, as _My Lord. _Abraxas had been struck, but he'd been unswervingly loyal to Tom and hadn't bristled nearly as much as Tom would have thought he'd do. Now Abraxas wondered what game Tom was playing, just what his goals were. He was already the Minister for Magic, and at such a young age. How much higher could he climb? How much higher did he yearn to climb?

"For a true Slytherin, no ambition is too lofty, is it, Mr Malfoy?" Tom asked softly. Abraxas looked surprised, but he shook his head and whispered,

"Of course not."

"Hermione and I will be ready for that Portkey on Saturday," Tom said. "Thank you for all the preparation work you've done on this. I'm sure the Quidditch World Cup will be very successful."

"I do hope so," Abraxas said, "or all my lost sleep is for nothing."

He laughed a little and rose from his chair, bowing.

"Until Saturday, then," Tom said, dismissing Abraxas. Malfoy turned to go, shutting the office door behind him.

* * *

"Hermione? Did you eat something off?"

Tom stood outside the bathroom door and listened to the sound of Hermione retching. She didn't answer. He frowned and heard her vomit again, and he decided he'd had enough. He leaned onto the doorjamb and whispered,

"_Legilimens._"

_Hermione aimed her wand at the Gravidare Revelio Potion. She murmured a spell to set the potion, and she shut her eyes. If it came out cloudy white, it would be negative; she wouldn't be pregnant. But it it came out bright blue, she was with child. Hermione's heart was racing as she counted to thirty and then opened her eyes. The potion in the cauldron was bright blue. Her stomach twisted, and she frantically started counting days. She was late, so late. Her breasts were aching. She was nauseated all the time. She was pregnant._

"Hermione." Tom blinked through tears as he listened to Hermione vomiting again, and then he reached for the bathroom door. He pushed it open, stepping into the bathroom. Hermione was hugging the toilet, her face burrowed into the seat as she heaved. Tom pulled out his wand and aimed it at her, incanting firmly, "_Nonemesis Maxima. Exnausea Maxima. Scourgify._"

Hermione hauled herself to her feet and stumbled to the sink, turning on the tap and rinsing out her mouth. She was crying, Tom realised. She swished water through her mouth and spat it out, and then she splashed water on her face. She turned the tap off and patted her face with a little towel, and she mumbled,

"I was trying to figure out a good way to tell you."

"Hermione." Tom could hardly breathe. He reached to take her face in his hands, and he made her look at him. She stared into his eyes, seeming bleary and tired. She licked her lips and whispered,

"The timing's right. For what we've been told. May of next year."

"Oh, Hermione." Tom pulled her against his chest and kissed the top of her head. He just held her, for a very long while, and then he whispered, "I'll brew you up a Nonemesis Potion so you're not sick. Rub Butterfly Weed Balm all over you so you're comfortable. I'll massage your feet when they get swollen."

"I wish Porridge was here," Hermione said rather morosely, and Tom wondered suddenly why she cared about the damned cat. Why was she so concerned with the animals she kept leaving behind in her time travel?

"I keep leaving people and things behind," she said quietly. "I keep traveling and leaving behind lives. What if Shepherd is born and then I leave him? What if I abandon my own child?"

"Oh. Erm… I don't think that will happen," Tom said quite confidently. He pulled back and looked at Hermione, but she didn't seem certain at all. She shook her head and whispered,

"I came from 1999 to 1947. Then from 1947 to 1952. Now I am pregnant with your child, Tom Riddle. Who's to say I won't leave him? How can I know that I won't be parted from my son?"

"I don't…" Tom's eyes seared suddenly as he recognised that he had no way of guaranteeing Hermione anything. He gulped. "I don't think…"

"We have absolutely no idea what's going to happen," Hermione insisted. "We have no way of knowing if all three of us will stay together forever."

"We _will_ stay together forever," Tom growled back. He felt frightened all of a sudden. Wasn't this meant to be a joyful moment? Weren't they meant to be celebrating? They should be laughing through tears at the prospect of holding their sweet little child, shouldn't they? Instead they were talking in whispers about being ripped apart through time. Why was Tom letting this happen?

"I will not let my family become separated," he insisted. Hermione scoffed loudly.

"As if you had any control whatsoever of us falling asleep in 1947 and waking up here!"

"I'll figure it out!" Tom was practically shouting now. "I'm leaving. I'm going to Knockturn Alley."

"To Knockturn Alley?" Hermione repeated. "What are you on about?"

"I need to talk to Madam Mutatia," Tom said. "I'm sure she knows something about all of this. About the travelling."

"Tom, you're the Minister for Magic!" Hermione exclaimed. "You can't just walk into a Medium's shop!"

"I can do as I please," Tom snarled, and he backed away from Hermione, Disapparating at once. He came to in Knockturn Alley, and almost immediately, people around him took notice of the fact that the Minister for Magic had just appeared out of thin air.

"Hullo, Minister," said a hunched old wizard. Tom nodded his greeting. A pimple-faced witch passing by simpered,

"Minister Riddle, sir."

"Hello." Tom stalked past the throng and headed right by Borgin and Burkes. He came to the entrance of Madam Mutatia's shop, and he cleared his throat roughly. He opened the door and strode straight inside, and he was greeted by a collection of bones, hourglasses, and draping fabrics. Candles were lit everywhere, and soft harp music played in the corner from an enchanted instrument.

"Minister Riddle," said a quiet voice. Tom trained his eyes on the cushion in the centre of the room, where Madam Mutatia sat cross-legged with her hands on her knees. She smiled a little and nodded. "I was wondering when you would come."

Tom felt ill at ease. He took a step further into the shop and chewed his lip. He straightened his robe and said,

"You've been expecting me."

"You are not of this place," Madam Mutatia said softly. "You and Madam Granger have come a long way. She most of all."

"How do you know that?" Tom narrowed his eyes. Madam Mutatia pushed her frizzled hair from her face and said warmly,

"I get deliveries sometimes. Would you like to see one?"

Tom swallowed hard and shrugged. He suddenly thought he'd done something very foolish by coming here, but then Madam Mutatia rose from her cushion and padded across her shop. She went to a cloudy glass counter and opened a leather folio that seemed to have been waiting for her there. She pulled something out - a photograph, Tom realised. She held it up and said,

"For you. You may keep it."

Tom approached her and gingerly took the photograph. He frowned and then studied the photograph, recognising it at once as a birthday party. A sparkling cardboard _10_ was behind a large table, and a girl with springy, wild black hair was blowing out candles on a birthday cake.

Bellatrix.

To her left was a boy with ice blond hair, at least a few years younger. Beside him, standing very near him, was a girl with blonde hair. Narcissa. A brunette girl clapped enthusiastically a distance away. Andromeda.

To Bellatrix's right was a boy, standing just a bit shorter than her, with side-parted dark hair and his father's deep eyes. He had his mother's chin and cheekbones. He cheered when Bellatrix blew out her candles.

Shepherd.

"Why don't you turn it over?" Madam Mutatia suggested. "There's a note on the back."

Tom gulped and flipped the photograph over. His heart skipped a beat when he saw Hermione's very neat script in black ink.

_Tom,_

_Don't worry. I'm still here. In fact, I took this photograph myself. The cake was a little dry, but otherwise, all was well today. We're together, you and I._

Tom couldn't see suddenly. Water had flooded his field of vision. He raised his eyes to Madam Mutatia and demanded thickly,

"Who gave you this?"

"She did," Madam Mutatia said softly. "I'll teach her how, if you'll send her to me."

"All right." Tom just nodded. He stared at the photograph, dusting his fingertips over the image of Shepherd, and he whispered, "Will we be separated, then?"

"Apparently not," Madam Mutatia said. "Now go, Minister Riddle. You've got potions to brew so your pregnant wife can be comfortable travelling to the Quidditch World Cup, haven't you?"

"Yes," he whispered. He reached into his pocket on instinct, thinking he ought to pay the Medium, but she touched at his elbow and shook her head.

"Go." She said quietly. "Good day, Minister."

**Author's Note: Whew! Hermione's pregnant **_**and**_ **sending photographs back in time. All right! Who's ready for the Quidditch World Cup? Thanks as always for reading and reviewing.**


	14. Law

Hermione came blustering into the townhouse and slammed the door shut. Tom looked up from where he sat in the parlour, shut his book on Wizengamot case history, and asked quietly,

"What's wrong?"

"How could she do this?" Hermione demanded in a wild huff. Gronky the House-Elf appeared and asked,

"Madam! What can I get you to soothe you?"

"Nothing, Gronky," Hermione sighed. "Thank you."

Hermione dragged her fingers through her hair and shook her head. She stalked into the house and sounded very distressed as she murmured,

"I can't believe she's done this. Of all people. I mean, _really._ The mess this has made."

"If you don't tell me what's going on, I'm breaking Rule Number One," Tom warned, rising from his chair and setting down his book. He scowled and approached Hermione. "Who did what?"

"Odessa Lestrange!" Hermione exclaimed, tossing up her hands. "Odessa Lestrange's House-Elf, Botee, came into the House-Elf Liaison Office early this morning and insisted that Odessa cast a Stinging Hex upon him as punishment for him not preparing dinner correctly!"

Tom's mouth fell open. "Odessa violated the Corporeal Rights Act?"

"The Department of Magical Law Enforcement immediately acted. They searched her wand and questioned her. She confessed, Tom. This is a mess." Hermione blew into the parlour and flopped into one of the armchairs. She touched at her forehead. "We had Reynard Lestrange in the office this evening shouting - _shouting_, Tom - that he wasn't about to pay a thousand Galleons and have his wife on probation for two years because of a _damned Elf._"

"Well, Reynard Lestrange will have a stern talking-to," Tom declared primly. "I'll make the man see reason."

"Believe me. I gave him more than a little bit of a stern talking-to." Hermione shut her eyes. "I believe my exact words were, _This is the law, Mr Lestrange, and if you and Odessa didn't want to pay a fine and have her wand searched monthly, she ought to have kept her spells away from your servant. House-Elves have rights now; you can't just go Hexing them, and -_"

"So you got into a fight with Reynard Lestrange." Tom sighed and swallowed hard. "I presume this will mean quite a lot of paperwork for you over the next few days. You'll need to testify at her hearing, I suppose."

"Yes, I will." Hermione opened her eyes. "I can't come to the Quidditch World Cup, Tom. I'm sorry. This is going to consume my energies for the time being."

"You're right that this is quite a mess." Tom chewed his lip. "My old school friend, one of my allies… caught up in legislation we've pushed hard. Now Odessa will be a convicted criminal. She'll have a record with the Wizengamot. She'll have to report to the Ministry of Magic for wand searches every month for two years. _And_ she's heavy with child. I don't suppose you and the Department of Magical Law Enforcement could make an exception for a pregnant witch."

"You're asking me to exonerate Odessa Lestrange from having abused Botee?" Hermione narrowed her eyes. "Pregnancy is not an excuse to throw a Stinging Hex at a House-Elf, Tom."

She spat out those last words, quite angrily, and Tom huffed. "You're right, of course."

"Why would she do this?" Hermione moaned. She threw her head back against the armchair and covered her eyes with fists. "Why would she Hex her House-Elf? I thought I knew Odessa. She seemed like a decent person."

"Hermione." Tom walked slowly before the chair and stuck his hands into his pockets. "From what I gather, it took years of convincing to get to the point where Purebloods would even go along with the very idea of legislation protecting House-Elves. If I had to guess, Odessa Lestrange reverted to old behaviours that had been ingrained in her since childhood - treating House-Elves like rubbish. But it's as you say. The law is the law. Still, I think I should go visit the Lestranges to smooth things out as best as I can."

"Why would you visit them?" Hermione lowered her hands and glared. "I'm going to have to speak at her Wizengamot hearing, Tom. I'll have to affirm the law. She'll be sentenced to a one thousand Galleon fine, and her wand will be searched every month for two years. She will have a record. They're going to hate us now."

"Not if I talk to Reynard and Odessa myself," Tom said with supreme confidence. "I can sort this out."

"Sort it out?" Hermione sounded disbelieving. "This will make you an enemy in the Pureblood -"

"No. I won't have it that way. I'm going to the Lestranges' house, Hermione. I'll be back soon." Tom meandered into the bedroom to fetch an outer robe. "Drink some water. It's important that you stay hydrated."

* * *

"Reynard."

Tom stood in the foyer of the Lestranges' house as Rodolphus and Rabastan peered around the top of the staircase. Reynard Lestrange stood before Tom, his arms folded over his chest, and said stiffly,

"Minister Riddle. I'm sure you've heard about our Elf."

"I heard that Odessa rather lost her temper with the creature," Tom said. "I know the both of you understand why the law protecting House-Elves was passed."

"We understand that Madam Granger has an almost unnatural interest in the welfare of Beasts and Beings," Reynard Lestrange said quite tightly. "We understand that she's been almost obsessive about House-Elves for years. But she didn't grow up in Pureblood society. She doesn't understand what having a House-Elf in a home has meant for Pureblood families for many generations."

"She doesn't understand what it means to be a member of the Sacred Twenty-Eight, and neither do I," Tom admitted. "But we do understand that all creatures in the Magical world have rights, including House-Elves. The law was passed because -"

"Minister Riddle." Odessa Lestrange came walking into the marble foyer, descending the stairs past her sons. She cradled her pregnant belly and waddled a little as she came down the stairs. Tom bowed his head and mumbled,

"Odessa. I'm sorry to hear what's happened."

"It was a stupid mistake," Odessa hissed, "and it will cost us dearly in gold and will make a criminal of me."

"The law, Madam Lestrange, was draughted with justice in mind," Tom said. "It was not created to make criminals of anyone, but rather to protect House-Elves. I am very sorry that you lost your temper."

"Well, I thought we were good friends," Reynard Lestrange sniffed, "but I suppose… well…"

"We _are_ friends, Reynard," Tom said, "which is why I will be personally covering your fine."

Reynard and Odessa Lestrange were silent. They stared at one another in confusion, and then Reynard cleared his throat and asked,

"I beg your pardon, Minister?"

"I have just visited Gringotts before coming here," Tom said in a prim voice. "I discreetly made a transfer of one thousand Galleons from my personal vault to yours. It is a gift, from one friend to another, to celebrate the upcoming birth of your third child. Consider it an early present, an expression of Madam Granger's and my joy about the impending Lestrange baby."

Reynard squared his jaw and blinked. "Does Madam Granger know about this, Minister Riddle?"

"Erm… no, she does not." Tom dragged his teeth over his bottom lip. "This is a gift from me to you."

"Hmm. Because Madam Granger had some fine words for me today," Reynard said, quirking up an eyebrow. "But I must say, I appreciate your… _gift._ Very much indeed. It is most generous, and a sign of your benevolence. You are a good and just Minister for Magic, to recognise that people make errors sometimes."

"This is simply me making a gift to my friend," Tom said simply. "And I expect full discretion in this matter, Reynard. Odessa. I can trust that this gift will not be advertised."

He glanced up to where little Rodolphus and Rabastan stared down from the top of the stairs, and his stomach twisted. The boys were little, but he suddenly wondered if the children would tell someone that the Minister for Magic had come calling and talking about a gift. Suddenly he wondered if he'd made a terrible mistake. He gulped and cleared his throat.

"Instruct your boys on complete confidence," he told Odessa and Reynard. They nodded. Tom turned to Odessa and said, "Your wand checks will not be so very bad. Into the Ministry, a quick examination, out. A minor inconvenience about which nothing can be done, I'm afraid. You can appeal them in six months, if they're going well. I will request that Madam Granger advocate for one year of checks instead of two."

"Thank you, Minister Riddle." Odessa curtsied in her elegant blue robes, and Reynard glanced over his shoulder.

"Will you stay for tea, Minister?"

"I need to go get packed for the Quidditch World Cup, but thank you." Tom nodded and turned, putting his hand on the doorknob. He narrowed his eyes at Reynard and affirmed, "We _are_ friends, aren't we, Reynard?"

"Yes, Minister. Very good friends. Thank you for the baby gift," Reynard said quietly. Tom nodded again and turned to go.

* * *

Hours later, Tom stared at the ceiling and felt his heart racing. Hermione was sleeping soundly beside him, but he was restless and anxious. He rolled over and spooned her from behind, wrapping his arm around her and touching at her abdomen. He shut his eyes and tried to imagine the tiny child growing inside of her. Shepherd.

What would it be like, he wondered, to cradle his child? What would it be like to watch his child take his first steps, to watch Shepherd burst with magic? What would it feel like to stand on Platform 9 ¾ and watch Shepherd steam away on the Hogwarts Express? What would it be like to be a father? He'd know soon enough. Hermione was already pregnant. It was a matter of months until Tom knew what fatherhood was.

But tonight his mind was distracted from thoughts of Shepherd and focused on another expecting family - the Lestranges. Tom sighed and kissed at Hermione's cheek, murmuring,

"Hermione."

She stirred and rolled toward him, her eyes still shut as she kissed at his shoulder. She reached up to cup Tom's jaw, which was scruffy and in sore need of a morning shave. Hermione seemed to drift back off to sleep, so Tom brought her knuckles to his lips and said again,

"Hermione."

Her eyes fluttered open, and as she stared up at him, she whispered, "Were you in my dreams again?"

"No," he said seriously. "I need to tell you something."

Hermione's thick brows knit together, and she pulled back a little. "What's wrong?"

"I gave Odessa and Reynard Lestrange a thousand Galleons," Tom said, feeling his breath catch in his chest as he anticipated Hermione's reaction. Sure enough, she pushed herself up onto an elbow and glared at him, and she hissed,

"You did _what?_"

"I gave them a gift to celebrate the upcoming birth of their child," Tom said shakily, but Hermione narrowed her eyes and shook her head.

"You're paying their fine to keep them as friends. So, what, Pureblood friends of Tom Marvolo Riddle aren't subject to the penalties of the laws protecting House-Elves? If they abuse their Elves, you'll just cover the fines so they have no real consequences?"

"I also told Odessa you'd argue for one year of wand checks." Tom shut his eyes and felt nauseated. Hermione scoffed.

"I very well will not. She's lucky I don't argue for _three_ years of wand checks!"

"Hermione," Tom said softly, opening his eyes, but Hermione was clearly irate. She shoved herself out from under the blankets and began to pace beside the bed, arms tossed up in the air.

"What happens when Abraxas Malfoy decides to kick Dobby in the head? Will you risk losing Abraxas as a friend, or will you give him an _early birthday gift_ of a thousand Galleons, Tom? What sort of a precedent are you setting with this little _gift?_ You're doing this for the Lestranges; why not just make it your policy for anyone who was an old school friend? They abuse their House-Elves, they get convicted, you pay their fines."

"That's not…" Tom rubbed at his forehead. "That's not the policy."

"Then why did you do it for Reynard and Odessa Lestrange?" Hermione demanded shrilly. "What sort of example is this setting? The law is the law! There _will_ be consequences for people who mistreat House-Elves! I wrote this law and you signed it! Why are you letting Odessa Lestrange get off without any -"

"I'm not letting her do anything," Tom scowled, but Hermione seethed,

"Don't interrupt me, Tom Riddle. You bribed Reynard and Odessa Lestrange into staying friends with you even though she Hexed her House-Elf in clear violation of the law. You spent _our_ money without asking me! I'm furious about that, you know. You didn't even ask me! You didn't consult with me about this. A thousand Galleons is a lot of money!"

"I realise that, but we have a lot of money," Tom said patiently, and Hermione actually yanked at her hair.

"That is not the point!" she shrieked. "You took _our_ money without asking and you gave it to criminals so they'd stay your friends! Why? Why not explain that if they can't obey the law, then there will be consequences, because you're the damned Minister for Magic, and if they don't like the laws you've signed, that's too damned bad? You have to buy your friends? I thought more of you, Minister Riddle."

She spat his title at him, pacing faster than ever, and Tom propped himself on his elbows as he watched her. His cheeks were hot and his heart was racing as he swallowed past the thick knot in his throat. He finally said,

"You're right. This was a foolish way to handle this. If Abraxas breaks the law with Dobby, I can't give him another thousand Galleons to keep his friendship. He'll have to stay loyal because I'm me, not because I've paid him. If Avery beat the Selwyn girl's House-Elf, we'd have to punish him. I wouldn't be able to buy his friendship. I don't know… erm…"

_I don't know what I was thinking, _he wanted to say, but he just shut his eyes as Hermione said quietly,

"I am going to recommend that Odessa Lestrange get two years of wand checks, as per the suggested punishment written in the Act. What Reynard and Odessa Lestrange choose to do after that is up to them. The money's already wasted."

"Right." Tom gulped. "I just hope their boys… you know, the little ones were listening from the top of the stairs."

"Who, Rodolphus and Rabastan?" Hermione sounded dismayed. "Oh, Tom. Tom! This could really come back to haunt us. Why did you do this?"

"I'm a bloody fool, that's why." He flopped back and dug his fists into his eye sockets. "You're right. You're right, of course. The law is the law, and if people don't like my policy, then they won't be my friends. Either people do as I have commanded through the law, or they will be punished. I won't buy their friendship."

"If the boys tell anyone," Hermione murmured, "you and I will both confirm that we've gifted the Lestranges a one thousand Galleon baby gift, since I am now pregnant and we wanted to celebrate both babies. We'll be on the same page with this."

Tom pulled his hands away from his eyes and stared at Hermione. She nodded firmly and sank her teeth into her lip.

"It's important that we present a united front," she insisted. "So, we gave the Lestranges a sizeable gift to celebrate both pregnancies. That's the story, if it comes up at any time. We're together, you and I. Even when you act like a damned fool, Tom."

He shut his eyes and whispered, "I wish you were coming to the Quidditch World Cup. I could use your presence of mind with the French and the Russians."

"You'll be fine," she huffed. "You're very intelligent and charming. Most of the time. Now, please, can we stop thinking about this nonsense and go back to sleep?"

**Author's Note: Tom, you moron. We know even from the **_**Harry Potter**_ **series that Tom Riddle/Voldemort doesn't always think everything through.**

**In the next chapter, he'll be off to the Quidditch World Cup while Hermione deals with Odessa's hearing.**

**Thank you for reading and reviewing!**


	15. Cup

"And you're very certain you don't want to come?" Tom rather nervously held his Extended suitcase in his hands and cleared his throat through a ripple of anxiety. Hermione tipped her head, giving him a look of… was it pity? She shook her head and said,

"I'd come, Tom. I would. But I've got Odessa's hearing. I have to be there… this is my job. I'm the head of the Department."

"I know." Tom huffed a hard breath. "You've got your career to tend to. You're not just the wife of the Minister. Are you very certain you're going to ask for two years of wand checks for her?"

"Yes," Hermione affirmed certainly. She crossed her arms over the chest of her buttoned-up dress shirt and said quite primly, "The law is the law. You did what… well… you made the mistake you made, giving them that gift, Tom, but I'm not going to publicly set a precedent of a one-year wand check sentence. The recommended sentence is two years. That's what I'll advise to the Chief Warlock. We'll see what he hands down. Who knows? He may go easy on her."

"Yes, but she'll still be quite bitter towards you about it," Tom grumbled. "And towards me."

"Well, that is what it is," Hermione shrugged. "And if they try telling people that you paid off their fine, our story is that that thousand Galleons was a gift to celebrate Odessa's pregnancy and mine."

"When _are_ we going to announce, by the way?" Tom asked softly. He moved toward Hermione and reached for her hair. He tucked it behind her ear and leaned forward to kiss her cheekbone. "How long until I can tell everyone that I've got a child on the way?"

"Another four weeks or so," Hermione said. She shifted on her feet. "I know we've got the newspaper article, and the photograph… I know we're certain it's going to stick, that everything's going to be fine. But you can never be _too_ certain, you understand. Not with these things. So we'll wait until the nausea abates and the first weeks are past and I'm beginning to show. And then we'll do an interview with the _Prophet_ to announce it."

"An interview with the _Prophet?_" Tom quirked up an eyebrow. "Hermione, I'm surprised at you."

"Well, if we tell your old school friends at a dinner party, one of them will just go running to the papers." Hermione rolled her eyes. "Best we send an owl to Arden Colporter ourselves in a few weeks telling her we've got news and we'd like her to come here and sit down to chat. She'll do a nice write-up, I'm sure."

"You've changed." Tom said the words gently, but Hermione bristled a little. Tom gulped and told her, "When you first came to 1947, you hated me. You wanted nothing to do with the Purebloods; you wanted nothing to do with my ascent."

"You're very different from the Dark Lord I remember," Hermione replied quietly.

"Madam," croaked a voice, and Tom turned to see Gronky toddling in from the kitchen. "I've got ginger tea to soothe Madam's expecting tummy. Hot and ready for you in the parlour, Madam."

"How kind. Thank you, Gronky. The Minister is just leaving, and I'll come have it." Hermione smiled warmly at the House-Elf, who nearly toppled over with a low bow. Hermione turned to Tom and said seriously,

"Once you're back from the Quidditch World Cup, I'd like to work on getting a House-Elf in the Liaison Office. Especially now that the House-Elves are allowed to come and voice their complaints directly to the office. I'd like to discuss the possibility with Abraxas of freeing Dobby - oh, come on, Tom, you _know_ that Dobby wants to be a Free Elf - and we'll replace him for the Malfoys."

"You want to ask Abraxas Malfoy to free Dobby so that Dobby can work in the House-Elf Liaison Office," Tom said slowly, narrowing his eyes, "and offer to replace Dobby in the Malfoys' household?"

"Yes." Hermione nodded. Tom sighed. He shook his head but said,

"I'll be seeing Abraxas at the Cup. I'll bring it up with him, broach the topic."

"Oh, _thank you_, Tom!" Hermione threw her arms around him, and she leaned up to kiss his cheek. "Be safe. Have a good time."

"I'll be back when the match is over," Tom said. He kissed Hermione hard on the mouth then, letting his tongue creep between her lips and scraping along the roof of her mouth. He suckled on her lip and whispered against her skin, "I love you."

"I love _you_, Tom Riddle." Hermione touched at his chest and murmured, "Come back to me soon."

He winked at her and took a few steps back, Disapparating and coming to in the Atrium of the Ministry of Magic.

* * *

Tom had never been this Portkey-sick in his entire life, but, then he'd only travelled by Portkey once before, and that had been over a very short distance. This Portkey had taken them all the way from London to Umbria, and now Tom was in a villa in Assisi getting so violently ill that everything hurt. He vomited so hard into the toilet that his stomach twisted and contracted painfully, and his throat itched and scratched from the force of it all. He gripped the sides of the toilet, shaking like mad, and groaned softly.

"M-Minister Riddle?" asked a voice quietly from the bathroom door. Tom squeezed his eyes shut. He didn't want anyone to see him like this. He sniffled through the sickness and tried not to vomit again.

"Yes?"

"I've got Nonemesis Draught here if you'd like some. Perla Malfoy just took some, as well. She was horrifically ill."

Tom raised his eyes to see Priscilla Rosier standing in the threshold of the bathroom, and Tom reached with trembling fingers to pick up his wand off the terracotta tiles. He aimed it at Priscilla and whispered,

"_Accio _Nonemesis Draught."

The little bottle in Priscilla's hand came flying towards Tom, and he caught it out of midair and uncorked it. He pulled out the stopper and dropped five drops into his mouth, and instantly the nausea and spinning sensation was lifted. He flushed the toilet and did up the stopper, and he heaved himself to the sink. He splashed water on his face and quickly, quietly aimed his wand at himself, Scouring his mouth and hair and clothes and face. He rinsed off the bottle of Nonemesis Draught for good measure before handing it back to Priscilla Rosier, who asked warmly,

"Better, Minister?"

"Yes. Thanks." He stood before her and shrugged. "Why didn't you feel sick, I wonder?"

Priscilla curled up half her mouth and said, "I've heard some people are just more prone to it than others. Perhaps if you take the Nonemesis Draught preventively before our trip home?"

"Yes. Good thought." Tom sighed. He felt a strong pulse then, and he frowned. He crept nonverbally into Priscilla's mind, and he was socked with a thought from her.

_His wife isn't here. His room is just down the hall from mine. Perhaps I could convince him… if I could just seduce him…_

Tom squinted and recoiled a little from Priscilla, whose eyes went wide in surprise at the reaction. Tom shook his head and said,

"Pardon me, Miss Rosier; I need to go check on Perla."

"Yes. Of course." Priscilla stood aside and let Tom pass, and as he huffed by her, he felt frustration flood through him. He'd wanted to sack Priscilla months earlier, but Hermione had insisted that he keep her on. She did a good job, Hermione said, and it was foolish to fire her just because she had a crush on Tom. But it was more than that, wasn't it? She was trying, actively, to seduce the married Minister for Magic. Surely that was an offence worth sacking someone over.

Perla was rather grey-faced at lunch, and she hardly touched her food, but, then, neither did Tom. It was a shame, because the rich pasta seemed like it would have been appetising if he hadn't been so nauseated earlier. Tom and Perla flashed one another looks of solidarity a few times. Abraxas covered Perla's hand and murmured gently to her,

"Better now, dearest?"

"I really dislike Portkeys," Perla insisted.

"Will you be up to coming to the match?" Abraxas fretted. "We need to Disapparate from here in about an hour."

"I'll be all right," Perla said stoutly. Antonin Dolohov spoke up then and insisted,

"You've got a brave wife, Malfoy."

"That I have, Mr Dolohov," Abraxas smiled.

"I wonder," Tom said, dragging the pad of his finger around his wine glass, "if I will be able to compliment the Malfoys further by the end of this conversation. You see, Abraxas, I have a bit of a proposition for you."

"A proposition, Minister?" Abraxas raised his pale brows, and Tom smirked.

"An idea. A suggestion. You know that Hermione gets on rather well with your House-Elf, Dobby."

"Dobby. He is a spirited thing. Very independent. Loyal, but also rather… what's the word?" Abraxas looked to Perla for guidance, and Perla prompted him,

"Kinetic."

"Anyway," Tom said, still drawing circles around the rim of his class, "Hermione's interested in having a House-Elf working in the House-Elf Liaison Office. It would help in cases where House-Elves report abuse; it would help sort out the reality of the situation and would also help keep things from escalating unnecessarily. We think Dobby would be a wonderful fit for the position."

"But… but Dobby is _our_ Elf," Perla said somewhat defensively. Tom nodded and said patiently,

"Of course. But is Dobby the best fit for you and Abraxas? Hermione and I would be happy to gift you a replacement Elf, placed directly with you and Abraxas through the Agency in Diagon Alley. Dobby was with your father Neptunus, wasn't he, Abraxas? He is, perhaps, not the ideal servant for your Manor. Bit of a square peg in a round hole, as it were. But if you were to give Dobby a piece of clothing and free him… and he came to work at the Ministry…"

"And in return, we'd get a new House-Elf?" Abraxas looked sceptical. "What if the new one was awful?"

"We'll get you one on a probationary basis to be sure it's a good fit," Tom assured him. "This would be an immense favour to me, Abraxas. You would be acting as my very dearest friends in doing this. And you'd be serving the wizarding community as a whole, because Dobby would be coming to work at the Ministry of Magic. So… what do you think?"

He'd put them on the spot, he knew, but he'd rather done that on purpose. He watched as Perla and Abraxas exchanged looks, and then the two of them finally nodded at each other. Abraxas said quite firmly,

"Perla and I are your closest allies, Minister Riddle. You can count on us for absolutely anything. If the Department for the Control and Regulation of Magical Creatures requires our Elf, we will gladly accept the replacement. With gratitude."

"Good man. And, thank you, Perla. You two are, indeed, such very good friends to Hermione and me. We are so very aware of what good friends you are." Tom picked up his wine glass and sipped a little, then felt a bit sick. He set the wine glass down and cleared his throat. "I'm going to go sit on the pergola until we leave for the match."

* * *

Priscilla Rosier said something elegantly in French, and the tall, thin, middle-aged wizard before her bowed his head and said in perfect English,

"What a pleasure to meet you, Minister Riddle. I have heard so much."

"Minister LeClerq. You speak English," Tom said with relief, and LeClerq smirked. He nodded and affirmed,

"You Brits have rather a nasty habit of only speaking your own language. The rest of the world is rather adept at picking up more than one."

Tom quirked up a brow but nodded. He was in a grand box, filled with velvet-cushioned seats, protected by a fluttering overhang, halfway up the enormous Quidditch pitch. The French delegation had filed in, and Tom said to the pretty young witch beside LeClerq,

"It seems we did not need to bring our translators, after all."

"Apparently not, Minister." The pretty witch was eyeing him with what could only be described as ravenous hunger. Her dark eyes glinted and her full lips parted, and Tom pried into her mind and found a flurry of thoughts in French. He couldn't quite understand the wording of her frantic ideas, but he saw a vivid image, a fantasy of Tom wrapping his arms around the witch and kissing her. He scowled a bit.

_Why_ were all of these witches so desirous of him? He'd never bothered with witches, not even when they'd found him handsome at Hogwarts. He'd been a virgin on Hermione's divan in Knockturn Alley. He had never troubled himself with witches before. Why was it so painfully obvious now that so many of them wanted him?

"Minister Riddle."

He turned at the sound of his name and found himself face-to-face with a beautiful witch in black-and-gold brocade robes. Her blonde hair was tied in a thick braid over one shoulder, and she wore a fur hat. Her blue eyes were piercing, and she was about even in height with Tom, so she stared straight into his eyes. Her gaze flashed when she met his, and she said in a thick accent,

"I am Tatiana Ivanova Chugunkin. Minister for Magic of Russian States. Pleasure to make your acquaintance."

"You speak English, too." Tom bowed his head. "My goodness. What an honour. Minister Chugunkin. Charleston Avery, my Head of International Magical Cooperation, has just signed an accord with your country, I believe."

"Yes. Now we shall have fair trade in wands and broomsticks," said Chugunkin. "No tariffs. No more blockades. I quite like this new system, where customer in Russia and Britain can choose for self what sort of wand or broomstick they desire and purchase it."

"Open trade is the endeavour of wizarding Britain under my administration," Tom said seriously.

"We in France appreciate you lifting the ban on French Aroma Potions," said Minister LeClerq from behind Tom. He turned round again, and LeClerq said, "It was really hurting the magical perfume industry, not being able to sell in Britain."

"Yes, well. My predecessor enacted many Protectionist policies that I'm in the process of overturning as quickly as possible." Tom spoke then to both LeClerq and Chugunkin. "I believe it is better for wizarding Britain to be as open as possible with our magical neighbours and friends. We all have something to contribute to markets, to literature, to music, to the arts. We have new inventions to better the lives of all. Why not share with one another, eh?"

"You sound like Grindelwald," said Chugunkin, and when Tom turned toward her, her face was steely. But she nodded and said, "I mean that as a compliment. I have heard you compared to him in many ways. You seek to create a wizarding society separated from the non-Magical, and you mean to have great order therein. You want friendship with other countries. You want prosperity for wizarding people."

"Surely your people adore you," LeClerq fawned, and Tom smiled just a little as he said,

"Things are going well in Britain. I'll put it that way. Things are going very well."

"And I hear you legislate rights for House-Elf." Chugunkin said that bit rather sharply, and Tom turned toward her again. This time, Chugunkin's almond eyes narrowed, and she said, "You give them right not to be beaten. People can be fined, have wands checked if they beat their Elf."

"That is our law," Tom confirmed. "We've also increased rights for Merpeople and Ghosts."

"But why?" LeClerq asked. Tom frowned a little at him, and LeClerq shrugged. "Why not put them in their place?"

"We are giving them a place," Tom said. "A seat at the table, as it were. It's working well so far. Things are harmonious in Britain."

"Well, I wish you well," LeClerq said, "You're a young man. You've all the world ahead of you."

"_Merci,_" Tom nodded. He took his seat then, but he could feel thoughts pressing against his mind. The teams - South Africa and Austria - were being introduced as the fans roared enthusiastically. As a Minister for Magic, a diplomat and head of state, Tom had to sit quietly through all the screaming and yelling. He had to show complete impartiality. He couldn't even cheer for goals, he knew. To do so would risk the stability of International Magical Cooperation. Merlin forbid he appear to prefer Austria over South Africa, or vice versa. So he just sat there and clapped politely for both teams, and then when the match began, he watched with feigned boredom. But still he felt thoughts pressing behind him, and eventually he nonverbally incanted,

_Legilimens._

He was hit with a flood of thoughts from all over the box, and he started to weed through them. LeClerq was hoping South Africa would trounce Austria. Even through his French thinking, Tom could tell that much. LeClerq had something of a rivalry with Austria, especially in industry, so he was certainly rooting for the team in green and gold. Tom blinked and moved his thoughts to another target. Abraxas Malfoy was fretting over whether Perla was still sick. She had really become very violently Portkey-sick, and Abraxas had hated to see her so uncomfortable. Now he was rubbing between her shoulder blades as she sipped a Gillywater.

Tatiana Chugunkin was thinking that Tom was very impressive, that he was the next Gellert Grindelwald. He would be very powerful, Chugunkin thought. She wanted to know more about his wife; people talked about Hermione Granger, who was writing all of the House-Elf legislation. Tom found that interesting, that Chugunkin was interested in Hermione.

Tom flicked his Legilimency around until he settled on Priscilla Rosier. She was staring at him from one row behind him, and she was wondering if, after the match had ended, there was any way she could get Tom into her room. If she could just catch him out in the bedroom corridor, clad in a short, silky nightgown, then perhaps…

Tom slipped out of her thoughts and pursed his lips. He shut his eyes and gathered himself. Finally he turned around slowly and glared at Priscilla Rosier. She blinked at him and smiled a little bit.

"Enjoying the match, Minister?" she asked, just softly enough that no one else could hear. Tom shook his head and reminded her,

"I am a married wizard."

Priscilla blinked again and whispered, "I know that. Minister."

"You need to…" Tom cleared his throat and licked his lips. "I am a married wizard, Miss Rosier. Clean up your thoughts."

Priscilla's eyes went round as saucers, and she gasped, touching her fingers to her lips. Her cheeks went very red, and Tom just turned slowly around. It was another half hour of gameplay, and four more goals scored, before the Austrian Seeker caught the Snitch and won the match 160 - 70.

The Italian Minister for Magic made a brief appearance in the box, but unlike the others, he spoke no English. Tom had to rely on the Italian translator to get out a few polite phrases thanking the Italians for hosting and promising to meet again soon, and that was that. He bid a polite adieu to the French and Russian delegations,. and he and the rest of the Brits Apparated back to the villa in Assisi.

Once they were back there, Tom paced around the stucco-walled parlour and said to Abraxas,

"I'd like to go back to London tonight."

"Tonight?" Abraxas seemed confused. "Minister Riddle, it's almost two in the morning. We were going to sleep in and make the Portkey tomorrow sometime in the afternoon or evening."

"I'll make my own Portkey," Tom growled. "You can all come back tomorrow."

"Minister, is something wrong?" Abraxas stepped into the parlour. Tom glanced beyond Abraxas to see Priscilla Rosier skittering up the terracotta staircase to go to bed. He chomped his lip and said,

"I… it's…" He hesitated. If he told Abraxas that Druella Black's sister was pining after him, that he was going to sack her, he'd lose even more Pureblood allies. Druella and Cygnus would be crushed by the idea of him sacking Priscilla over her feelings for him. Hermione was right about this matter, of course. Still, it truly bothered Tom. He was going to have to Confound the witch, or otherwise alter her mind, until she no longer lusted after him. It was too much. And for now, he wanted to be with his pregnant wife. He wanted Hermione.

"I need to get home," he said seriously to Abraxas. "I need my wife. So."

Abraxas' face softened. He just nodded. He reached into his pocket and pulled a Galleon out, setting it on the table between himself and Tom.

"As your Portkey, Minister Riddle."

Tom gulped and nodded. He stared at Abraxas for a long moment and said, "You really are a good friend, Abraxas. See you back in England, then."

**Author's Note: Well! Tom's doing well on the diplomatic front, and it seems he's viewed well by other Ministers for Magic. But he's viewed just a little too well by witches like Priscilla, too. How will Hermione's plan to work with Dobby go? 25 points to your House for reviewing (also, tell me your House! I love knowing what House my readers belong to! :D)**


	16. Threats

"Minister Riddle! Welcome." Mr Truitt, the broad-shouldered dark wizard in the House-Elf Placement Agency in Carkitt Market, held his arms out as Tom entered the shop. Tom smiled a little and nodded.

"Mr Truitt. Your wife has been doing such good work in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. How are you these days?"

"I'm very well. Thank you. Even better now that all this House-Elf welfare legislation's been passed. You see, House-Elves are not typically game for breeding, but now that they're not living in fear of witches and wizards, at least not physically, they're anxious to reproduce." Mr Truitt grinned toothily, and Tom curled up a lip with mild disgust. He nodded again and said,

"I'm here, actually, to procure a new House-Elf."

"Is Gronky not to your liking, Minister? When we placed the Elf with you a few years back, I thought we'd made a fine match." Truitt looked abashed, but Tom shook his head and said,

"No, it's the Malfoys. Abraxas and Perla. Their House-Elf, Dobby, has been freed with a winter cloak and is going to be working with my wife Hermione, in the House-Elf Liaison Office. The Malfoys need a new Elf. I'll be covering all expenses."

"Ah. Of course. We can find a perfect fit for them." Mr Truitt reached under his desk and pulled out a heavy leather book. He set it onto the desk with a mighty plop and peeled open the cover, turning past the front few pages of parchment and photographs until he reached a listing.

"How about this one?" he jabbed his finger at a black-and-white, moving photograph of a jumping, excitable-looking House-Elf. "She's called Fansy. She's nice and energetic. Loads of enthusiasm for chores and work. Perfect for a young couple like the Malfoys, no?"

"Hmm." Tom shook his head. "Actually, Abraxas considered Dobby a bit hyperactive for his tastes. He and Perla would like something a bit more… refined. Something sophisticated."

"Ahh. I see." Mr Truitt thumbed through his thick leather book until he came to another page. He paused, shook his head vigorously, then kept going. Finally, he settled on a photograph of a demure-looking female Elf who smiled good-naturedly at the camera.

"Meet Punkie," he said. "She worked for the Yaxley family until the patriarch died; the sons and daughters all had House-Elves of their own by then. Punkie is warm and loyal. She is hard-working and calm. Obedient and easy."

"She sounds perfect," Tom purred. "Can we start her on a provisional basis? In case it doesn't work out?"

"Naturally," said Mr Truitt. "All my placements are provisional. If it doesn't suit the family, bring her back and we'll get a different placement sorted."

"Perfect." Tom reached into his pocket for a bag of Galleons. "How much to place her, then?"

"For the Minister for Magic? Pah! I couldn't accept a Sickle." Mr Truitt swished a hand. But Tom narrowed his eyes and noted,

"It isn't for the Minister; it's for the Malfoys."

"Just the same, Minister Riddle, I couldn't take any money from you on this," said Mr Truitt. "I'll have Punkie delivered to the Malfoys tomorrow morning, if that suits."

"Wonderful. Thank you." Tom nodded tightly and turned to go. He stepped out into the brightly-lit Carkitt Market, and he almost ran straight into none other than Reynard Lestrange. Tom pulled back a little and bowed his head.

"Reynard," he acknowledged. "Hermione told me that Odessa's trial went better than expected. A five hundred Galleon fine and one year of checks."

"No thanks to Madam Granger," growled Reynard. He bared his teeth and said, "She advocated for the full fine and two years of checks. I thought we had agreed -"

"We didn't agree on _anything_," Tom hissed, clutching the front of Reynard's robes and pulling the man aside. "My wife and I gifted you money to celebrate your child. I made no promises."

Reynard narrowed his eyes and shrugged. "Whatever you say, Tom."

Tom recoiled a little at the disrespect. He scoffed and straightened his robes, and he insisted, "It's _Minister Riddle_ to you, Reynard."

"Or is it _My Lord?_" Reynard's voice was almost taunting then, and Tom froze. Reynard smirked and shook his head. "How grand you think yourself to be. A Half-Blood orphan, risen to be Minister. Bossing everybody about. Now my wife will be dragging three young children to her wand checks. Hope you and your Elf-loving wife are happy."

Tom had his wand out before he knew what was happening. He jabbed it at Reynard's throat, and Reynard said softly,

"Careful, Minister. Never know who's watching."

Tom sheathed his wand and stumbled backward a few steps. He pursed his lips and felt his cheeks go hot. He Disapparated from the spot, coming to inside his parlour.

* * *

"How have things been going with Dobby?" Tom asked Hermione over a meal of buttered noodles with meatballs. It had been an odd request, he'd thought, but it was what Hermione had been craving, and he was hardly about to argue with her over food these days.

"Well," Hermione said, pausing to stuff a bite of meatball into her mouth. She swigged it down with some milk and then said, "He's a very hard worker. He works so hard, in fact, that he keeps trying to do other people's jobs."

"How do you mean?" Tom gave Hermione an amused look. Hermione sipped more milk and said,

"Our secretary was out to lunch, and Dobby had nothing to do, so he straightened her desk for her. He Scoured the entire office of every mote and speck of dust. He even replaced the ink in all the empty inkwells in people's offices." She looked a little dismayed. Tom frowned.

"Well, it sounds like he's doing spectacularly."

"But that isn't his purview," Hermione said. "His job is to listen to House-Elves who come into the Liaison office, not to be the personal servant of the Department."

"Well, he's just reverting to his nature a bit," Tom grumbled. He'd spent the last week in rather a foul mood, ever since he'd run into Reynard Lestrange outside the House-Elf Placement Agency. He pinched his lips and asked, "How much longer? Until we can announce? I'm getting anxious, Hermione; I'd like to make an announcement."

"Why?" Hermione eyed him curiously. "Why are you so excited to announce my pregnancy, Tom?"

"Because," he said, shifting in his seat, "I'm excited about the baby, and I want people to be excited for _us._"

"You want to endear yourself further to people," she said knowingly. "To humanise yourself as the Minister for Magic. Young, ambitious Tom Riddle - father to be."

"Well, perhaps that is part of it," he sighed. Hermione nodded. She chewed her lip and said,

"Right, then. Write a letter tonight to Arden Colporter. We'll meet with her as soon as she can."

"Really?" Tom felt his face light up. "You're certain?"

"I feel healthy," Hermione said. "My last meeting with the Healer at St Mungo's went well; everything looks good so far. We can announce."

After dinner, Tom went into the small office in the townhouse and took out a sheet of parchment and a quill. He dipped it into ink and wrote neatly,

_Dear Mrs Colporter,_

_Madam Granger and I have a matter to discuss with you that we believe you will find to be of great interest. Kindly contact us with your availability for an interview._

_Regards,_

_Minister for Magic Tom Riddle_

He sent the letter off by owl and took a long, hot shower. He curled up alongside Hermione in bed and wrapped his arm around her, cupping one breast in her hand and hearing her hiss. He kissed her cheek and murmured,

"Still tender?"

"They've grown a bit; they're just a little sore," Hermione declared. "I think in a few weeks, I'll feel more up to it."

"No rush." Tom kissed the skin beneath her ear again and promised her, "I'll wait as long as I need to. You're always lovely to me."

She rolled a little to face him and stared. Her eyes were very wet, and he could tell she was on the verge of tears. Tom frowned, but Hermione whispered,

"I am going to be a mother, and you are going to be a father, and we are going to do it together. You and I, Tom Riddle, and that's not something I ever, ever thought would happen."

"You appeared out of nowhere." He tucked her hair behind her ear and kissed her lips gently. "You fell from the future and into my life, and I am changed forever for it. I am yours, and you are mine, Hermione. Isn't it so?"

"Yes." She whispered the word against his lips, and she tucked a leg across his hips. He reached between them and pressed a hand to her lower abdomen, and for the first time he felt a tiny swell there. It was just a little sway, a small bulge in the bottom of her flat belly. Just enough to hint that she was expecting, the very first outward inclination of her condition. Tom shut his eyes tightly and murmured onto her mouth,

"I adore the both of you."

"Shepherd and me," Hermione affirmed. "You love Shepherd and me, don't you, Tom?"

"Yes." He rubbed at that little hint of a swell on her lower belly and whispered, "I do love you."

"Goodnight," she mumbled then. "I'm tired."

He pulled back and nodded, letting her cosy up against him. He wrapped her up in his arms and held her near, and he closed his eyes as he lay on his back. He had his whole family here in this bed, he thought. He had everything right here.

* * *

"Mrs Colporter. Do come in." Hermione gestured for the reporter to enter their parlour.

"Arden, please, Madam Granger," insisted Arden Colporter. Gronky came tottering in with a tea cart, and the Elf administered tea into cups at once. Arden gratefully accepted hers and then sat in an armchair whilst Hermione and Tom seated themselves on a divan. Arden sipped her tea and then set it down, pulling out a notebook and a self-inking quill.

"So," she said, "You said you had something of interest for me. I await the news with bated breath."

"Well," Hermione said, glancing at Tom. She gripped his hand and smiled at Arden. "I'm expecting our first child."

Arden's face exploded into a great expression of glee. She grinned broadly, her eyebrows flying up.

"Are you?" she exclaimed. "How marvelous! Congratulations! When is the child due?"

"In the spring," Tom said vaguely. "Madam Granger is doing quite well physically and will continue her duties in the Department of the Control and Regulation of Magical Creatures until taking a maternity leave."

"Ah." Arden scribbled down some notes and then nodded slowly. She looked up and asked, "Have you any other comment about the situation?"

"We are so looking forward to being parents," Hermione said, "and the Minister for Magic is more resolute in his mission to unify and promote the welfare of wizarding Britain than ever now that we've got a child on the way."

"How marvelous," Arden murmured. "This will be front-page news tomorrow morning."

"Yes, we figured," Tom said softly.

"Whilst I've got you here… not to change the subject," Arden Colporter said, setting down her quill for a moment, "and not to detract from the joy of the occasion, but I wonder if I could get a comment from you on the other big news story we're going to be running."

"The other big news story," Tom said numbly. "What's happened? I should think I would know about anything major."

"Well, I only found out about it just before I came here," Arden said. "This is breaking news, of course. Odessa Lestrange - you know, the one who was found guilty of abusing her House-Elf? She was heavily pregnant and was taken to St Mungo's with terrible bleeding. They aren't sure she's going to make it."

Hermione stared at Tom with wide, searching eyes. Tom blinked and gulped.

"Why is the medical situation of a pregnant witch newsworthy?" he asked, though he realised the hypocrisy in that question. Arden tapped her quill against her notebook and shrugged,

"Because Odessa Lestrange is a convicted criminal, of course. I wonder if you'd care to comment, Minister."

"No. No, I've got no comment on that. And I don't want you printing that I've no comment, either. Leave me out of the story altogether."

He glanced at Hermione and thought to himself that he'd have to go straight from here to St Mungo's with her. If Odessa Lestrange died, or if something bad happened, Reynard Lestrange was going to be a loose cannon. He was a threat, Tom thought, especially when he was vulnerable like this.

"I need to attend to this matter," Tom said tightly. "Arden, if you please, refrain from reporting on Odessa's condition. I beseech you, if you've any decency, don't put that in the newspaper. Focus on Hermione's pregnancy; it'll sell plenty of papers. I promise."

For good measure, he wandlessly cast a Confundus Charm upon Arden Colporter to make her think it was an awful plan to write about Odessa and very important to focus on Hermione. Arden vibrated as she stood from the chair and shut her notebook.

"You're right, Minister," she nodded. "We'll splash the front page with news of the Minister's family. This is marvelous. Congratulations to you both."

"Gronky will see you out," Hermione said, and Arden walked off with the House-Elf. Once they'd gone, Hermione turned to Tom and hissed, "Odessa had a stillbirth in 1947. Now she's in the hospital with life-threatening bleeding. If she dies, Reynard's going to find a way to blame you. Us."

"I'm going to St Mungo's," Tom growled. "The last thing I need is a crazed Reynard Lestrange right now. I won't accept threats."

"There will always be one threat or another," Hermione noted quietly, but Tom glared at her and shook his head.

"Not if I have it my way," he said. "I'm going to the hospital. I'll be back soon."

He kissed her forehead, took a few steps away, and Disapparated.

**Author's Note: Sorry for the delay in updating; I was getting my one-shot **_**Aboard**_ **(which accompanies **_**All The Wrong Choices**_**) up. Please feel free to have a look at that if you haven't already.**

**Thanks as always for reading and reviewing!**


	17. Wands

"Minister Riddle," said a short witch with thick glasses at the reception desk of St Mungo's Hospital. She pushed her glasses up the bridge of her narrow nose and visibly gulped. "Hello. How may I help you?"

Tom perceived tension, anxiety from the witch, so he pried into her mind with nonverbal Legilimency. The witch, who was perhaps in her late twenties, was thinking that he was awfully handsome, and terribly successful, and it took everything Tom had not to roll his eyes as he pulled out of her head. He huffed a breath and said,

"I'm here to see Reynard and Odessa Lestrange."

"Oh. Erm… of course. Madam Lestrange is resting in a private room," said the reception witch. "Mr Lestrange is with her. Ordinarily, I'd have to ask permission before bringing you to the room, but seeing as you're the Minister for Magic…"

The witch blushed and laughed a little, and Tom just smiled a bit. She rose and pointed to a bank of lifts.

"She's in Room 203, sir."

"Thank you." Tom headed off towards the lifts, nodding in acknowledgment to an elderly Selwyn he passed walking toward the exit of the hospital. He spotted the young Selwyn witch who was with Avery these days, clutching at an older witch's hands, and he wondered if a member of the Selwyn family had taken ill. Tom paused and asked Agnes Selwyn,

"Is everything all right?"

"Oh. Minister Riddle. We're here for my great-aunt. Clessa; I'm sure you know her from the Wizengamot." Agnes Selwyn rubbed at the hand of the witch beside her. "Great-Aunt Clessa's had a fall, but she'll be all right."

"Oh. My condolences. I'll certainly have something sent to her," Tom said. "I'll pay her a visit before I leave, as well."

"That's very kind of you. Thank you, sir." Agnes Selwyn smiled prettily and headed on her way with her family. Tom approached the lifts and climbed inside, pressing the button for the second floor and heading up. Once he stepped out, the Mediwitches and Healers all seemed to notice that the Minister for Magic had come calling, and he was greeted with obeisances. Tom bowed his head and said loudly enough for everyone to hear,

"Thank you all for the wonderful, critical work you do here. It is greatly appreciated."

He walked down the corridor towards room 203, and when he reached it, the door was shut. He cleared his throat and knocked, and then he heard Reynard's voice say gently,

"I'll be right back, darling."

The door opened a moment later, and he was face-to-face with Reynard Lestrange. Reynard stared at him and then said quite sharply,

"Minister. Do come in."

"I heard something awful had happened to Odessa," Tom said, stepping into the hospital room. "May I have an update on her condition?"

"The baby's heartbeat is still strong, despite the bleeding." Reynard gestured to Odessa, who looked weak and sleepy. Tom tipped his chin up and swallowed hard. Odessa looked like she needed life breathed into her, like she was a sponge squeezed dry. He asked Reynard harshly,

"What are they doing for her?"

"Hydration potions. Invigoration Draught. Things like that. They said they'll reassess tomorrow to see how she and the baby are doing in the wake of all the bleeding."

Suddenly Tom had an idea. He'd hemorrhaged badly after making his diary Horcrux, and he'd used spells he'd found in a textbook from the Restricted Section to rejuvenate himself. He pulled out his wand and aimed it at Odessa.

"Wh-what are you doing?" Reynard stammered, reaching for Tom's arm. Tom calmly said,

"Please allow me to try something. _Vivifica._" He circled his wand, and bright pink light glowed from his wand and flowed into Odessa's form. Tom swallowed hard and incanted, "_Novo Suborior. Renovo._"

Suddenly Odessa was breathing quite heavily, and her eyes fluttered open. She sat up slowly and looked around the room, reaching to hold her heavily pregnant belly. She blinked a few times and looked at Tom, then Reynard, and she said gravely,

"What's going on?"

"I'm not entirely sure, darling," Reynard admitted. "Minister, what are these spells?"

"Healing magic… esoteric," Tom said. "Most Healers don't know these old spells."

"But she's… she's awakened." Reynard sounded shocked. "It's like you've _fixed_ her."

Tom tucked his wand away and gave Reynard a very serious look. "The things we do for our good friends. Go fetch the Healer."

* * *

_December 1952_

"Oh. Come help me with these bags, will you?" Hermione came huffing into the townhouse, and Gronky made it to her before Tom could. The House-Elf rushed to get the canvas shopping bags off of Hermione's arms before Tom could do it, and Tom stood there holding a glass of wine, feeling helpless. He stared at Hermione, who was quite visibly expecting these days. She had belted her winter cloak under her bust, and the swell of her belly was evident to anyone with eyes. Tom thought she had never looked more beautiful.

"That's all the Christmas shopping done, then," Hermione said, waddling into the parlour and easing down onto the divan. "I've never had such an extensive list of people to shop for in my entire life. I feel like we spent a fortune."

"Yes, well, I'm the Minister for Magic and you're a Department Head," Tom noted. "We have to be generous. I do appreciate you choosing the gifts. You're far better at selecting the right things than I would have been. So who did you buy for today?"

"I got Abraxas and Perla an enchanted snow globe that shows a glacier in Iceland. They've visited there a few times," Hermione said. She tipped her head back and shut her eyes. "I got Nott a personalised leather folio for work. It's quite elegant. Avery's bookish, so I got him a rare old copy of _When The Walls Have Eyes._ We've talked about Blumen's books; I think he'll enjoy it."

"See? You're so much more thoughtful a gift-giver than me." Tom came to sit beside her on the divan, and he placed his hand on her belly. He felt a little wild flutter, a tiny rush of a kick, and he asked softly, "Is that him? Shepherd?"

"I've been feeling him for ages; you can probably only just now start to feel it through the outside." Hermione smiled a little and sighed. "Feels like a goldfish in a bowl in there. With little taps sometimes. I'm sure eventually he'll be rattling about and giving me swift jabs to my ribs."

"My boy." Tom curled up his lips. "What are you giving Dobby for Christmas?"

"I am giving him a wand," Hermione said, and Tom froze. He said nothing for a long moment, just letting the comment settle. Eventually Hermione opened her eyes and stared at Tom, and she said seriously, "I want to pass a law allowing for wand use by -"

"You're only saying that because Odessa has been the only case of documented abuse," Tom said. "So you're pushing awfully hard on the House-Elves."

"Wand use was an aim of S.P.E.W. all the way back in my fourth year of Hogwarts, Tom," Hermione said calmly. "Odessa's been getting her wand checks done without a problem, even with a newborn. Thanks to you practically saving her life, Reynard's running around spouting off about how very sorry they are to have broken the law, how right and just the law is and how the Minister for Magic was right to have put it into place. The tide of public opinion has turned in favour of House-Elf rights. The time is now to grant them wands."

"But their magic is immensely powerful, even without wands," Tom noted. "What do they need wands for?"

"House-Elves are not permitted wands because witches and wizards are afraid of an uprising," Tom noted. "Their magic is strong without a wand; imagine how powerful House-Elves would be _with_ wands."

"But we've already seen that most House-Elves wish to serve their families," Hermione reasoned. "It's irrational and illogical to fear any sort of rebellion. Quashing their rights by prohibiting wand usage is tyrannical. My goal is to eventually grant House-Elves rights to leisure time, compensation, and -"

"Compensation," Tom repeated, sounding disbelieving. Hermione's cheeks went red, and she narrowed her eyes.

"For the ones who want it. Or the ability to serve willingly, as Free Elves."

"You're talking about a radical overhaul of the system of House-Elf relations with the wizarding world," Tom argued, and Hermione spat back,

"You've completely opened up trade with other nations where your predecessor had Protectionist policies in place. Your Head of Magical Games and Sports has instituted four major rule changes in professional Quidditch, which affect the entire industry from broomsticks to ticket sales. The Department of Magical Law Enforcement has changed recommended sentences for sixteen crimes since you took office. And you're lecturing me about being too radical on one cause?"

Tom swallowed. He considered what she'd said. It was true. In the time since he'd become Minister for Magic, nearly every Ministry department had overseen serious changes to policy and law. Even the Wizengamot had shifted in structure and procedure. Tom Riddle was considered by almost everyone in the Magical world to be a revolutionary leader. Granting wands to House-Elves was, in the grand scheme of things, no more earth-shifting a change than Abraxas' policy about Beater play in professional Quidditch. In fact, the Quidditch changes probably affected people's daily lives more seriously. Tom pursed his lips and nodded.

"Draught up legislation," he said, "and get it to my desk. I'll sign it. Wands for House-Elves. You can take Dobby to Ollivander's for Christmas."

Hermione's face broke into a wide beam of delight. She took Tom's face in her hands and kissed him hard. He breathed in the scent of her, soaking in the kiss and cupping her firm breast in his hand. He whispered against her mouth,

"Please. I'm hungry for you."

"I'm hungry, too," she replied. "For dinner. But for you first."

"For me first?" He moved his mouth from hers and put his lips beneath her ear. "What do you want from me, Hermione?"

"I want… mmph. Want you to take me into that bedroom and remind me how it is that I wound up in this condition in the first place," Hermione huffed. Tom laughed a little, dragging the lobe of her ear between his teeth, and he whispered,

"Let's go."

**Author's Note: Sorry for the rather brief chapter tonight. Thanks as always for reading and reviewing.**


	18. Better

Tom knelt behind Hermione and stared at the two of them in the mirror he'd positioned at the end of their bed. He sank his teeth into his bottom lip and cupped Hermione's breasts in his hands. They'd grown substantially in her pregnancy, and they were perfectly soft and lovely. He flicked his eyes over her gently swollen belly, and then raised his gaze back up to her face.

"So beautiful," he murmured. He positioned his cock against the base of her spine, and he began to grind. He made featherlight circles with his palm on one breast, gently toying with the nipple on the other side. He tugged and flicked at it as he massaged the other side, and Hermione's head fell back a little. She turned her face and whispered softly,

"Kiss me."

Tom did, pressing his lips to Hermione's and drawing her tongue into his mouth. She moaned a bit against him, and he kept stroking her breasts, slightly more firmly than before. He ground his cock against her lower back with more pressure and then muttered onto her lips,

"It feels good to touch you."

"You don't find me hideous like this?" Hermione whimpered, and Tom scoffed loudly.

"Are you mad? You are more beautiful right now than you've ever been to me." He kissed her again, harder now, and then slid his right hand down from her breast. He glided it over the smooth curve of her belly, pausing for a moment at the fullest spot. He kept going until he reached the place between her legs, and he touched the pads of his forefinger and middle finger there. She was wet, he felt. She was drenched for him.

"Hermione," he breathed against her mouth, and she whispered frantically,

"Tom, touch me."

He kept grinding his cock against her back, which felt so good he could hardly stand it. He pulsed his fingers against her clit, then reached farther until he could slide the two fingers into her body and use his thumb on her nub. He kept playing with one breast and caressed her womanhood, and he absorbed her flavour and scent as he kissed her. He pumped his hips, pushing the tip of his cock along Hermione's spine, and he finally broke his mouth off of hers.

"Oh, Merlin's beard," he whispered. "I'm going to come."

"Cover me in it," Hermione moaned wantonly. "Come on me."

"No choice," Tom seethed through clenched teeth. "Mmmph."

He rubbed hard for a few more minutes then, squeezing roughly at Hermione's breast as his fingers stilled on her entrance. He burrowed his face against Hermione's shoulder and huffed breath against her warm skin, wrenching his eyes shut as everything tightened up in a coil in his belly.

"Oh." He froze then, feeling his come burst out of his cock and explode all over Hermione's back. His cock throbbed and his veins went hot with pleasure. His fingers moved on instinct to pulse and circle on Hermione's clit, and she arched her back against the feel of what Tom had done to her. He was still gripping a breast, and he tightened his hold on her as he kissed her again and felt her lips tremble beneath his. He massaged her between her legs with deep, long strokes, and soon enough he felt her stiffen, felt her walls clamping.

She was coming, and it overwhelmed him. She was covered in his seed. She was climaxing from his touch. She was pregnant with his child. Tom kissed her so deeply that he felt a flash of magic whirl between them, and he moved his hand from her breast to cup her jaw. He finally pulled away and whispered,

"I love you more than anything else. Both of you."

"I never thought, on that New Year's Eve, that I would fall asleep and wake up into a world where Tom Riddle and his son would be my everything," Hermione said thickly. "But here we are. And we are together, you and I."

"Yes. We are," Tom replied. "Let's get you cleaned up."

* * *

"Thank you for coming with us," Hermione said warmly as she walked down Diagon Alley.

"Happy Christmas, Minister! Madam Granger!" called a ginger-haired wizard, and Hermione waved as Tom nodded. Tom turned to Hermione and glanced down to Dobby beside her.

"Wouldn't have missed this," he said. "Seeing Dobby get his wand? Why, it just wouldn't be Christmas without it."

He winked at Hermione, and she rolled her eyes at him. They had both been a little on edge about this whole matter. Ever since Tom had signed the legislation allowing House-Elves to have wands, they'd faced a barrage of concerned letters from people insisting that the House-Elves would attack their families if they had wands. Tom had taken time to hand write responses to every worried family insisting that their House-Elves would only obtain a wand if they desired to more efficiently and effectively serve their families with stronger magic. Polls and surveys of House-Elves undertaken by the Ministry supported the idea that the Elves would only get and use a wand for the purpose of doing their work more powerfully. House-Elves were not a revolutionary species, and they were disinclined to rebel against their families. Still, even with Tom giving an interview on the matter to the _Daily Prophet_, public opinion on House-Elves having wands was sceptical at best.

So it was partially public relations driving Tom to accompany Hermione and Dobby to Ollivander's today. It was a necessary show of solidarity with Hermione and her legislation, and it was a positive reinforcement of Dobby's choice to obtain a wand. Tom strode confidently with Dobby and Hermione into Ollivander's, entering the tiny shop and remembering the way he'd come in here in 1947 to confuse Ollivander about Hermione having a wand. He wondered distantly whether that lie still held in this sideways existence. Had he needed to back up Hermione's lies and stories here the way he'd done in her first time travel?

"Minister Riddle," said Ollivander kindly, stepping out from behind a giant stack of wand boxes. "Madam Granger. And… ah. The first of quite a few to come, I think. Your name?"

"Dobby, sir." The House-Elf bowed his head and knitted his hands together before him. "Dobby is a Free Elf. Dobby is wanting a wand, sir, so that Dobby can do magic with more focus, sir."

"More focus." Ollivander smiled a little, and Tom couldn't help sensing just a bit of condescension off the old wizard. Tom cleared his throat and reminded Ollivander,

"House-Elves are so very powerful without wands, don't you think, Mr Ollivander?"

"So they are, Minister Riddle. Indeed, House-Elf magic hardly needs a wand at all. But I think I've got just the thing for a creature in need of focused magic… hickory wood. Ah, yes. Hickory wood. Dragon heartstring core, I should think. A good length - nothing stubby, despite the size of its user. And reasonable pliability, for this wielder has shown great flexibility. Hm. Let me see here. The wand chooses the, erm… well. The wand chooses the House-Elf, it would seem."

He turned round and pulled out a box. He placed it on the counter before him and pulled off the lid, and he extracted a long, thin, knobby wand from inside. It was dark and elegant, and as he handed it to Dobby, the House-Elf's lime green eyes lit up brightly. His face broke into a wide grin as he took the wand. But the instant his long, thin fingers closed round the wand, a blast of wild sparks shot out of the wand's tip and lit the corner of the shop on fire. Tom whipped his own wand out and quickly extinguished the flames, grimacing.

"Not that one, it would seem."

"Not that one," Ollivander agreed, taking the hickory wand back. They tried another wand, pine with greater rigidity, but that caused a great loud bang and a burst of black smoke. Dobby attempted an ash wand that spurted a puddle of water all over the ground until he set it down, and then finally Mr Ollivander handed him a wand in a very worn, old-looking box.

"This one has been waiting for its owner for a very, very long time," he noted. "Perhaps you, Dobby, are who it's meant for. Give it a try. Rowan wood, twelve and three-quarters inches, dragon heartstring core, quite pliable."

Dobby took the wand in his hand, and there was a sudden rush of warm, pleasantly-scented air swirling through the shop. Tom blinked a few times, marveling at the way Dobby flicked the wand and neatened Ollivander's stacks of wand boxes. He swished the wand and nonverbally Scoured the dusty floorboards. Ollivander smirked and nodded.

"Yes," he said. "That's the wand, I should think. You and that wand were meant for each other, Dobby."

"Dobby is quite pleased, sir. Dobby quite likes Dobby's new wand!" Dobby aimed it at the cobwebbed lantern in the corner, which was cleaned at once. Tom curled up his lips and eyed Hermione, who beamed proudly at Dobby. Suddenly it didn't matter that they'd been getting letters from angry, worried Purebloods. Suddenly it didn't matter that the Notts and Burkes feared their Elves having wands. Suddenly, all that mattered was that Hermione's S.P.E.W. dreams had come to fruition.

Tom let Hermione pull out the coins to proudly pay for Dobby's wand, as Dobby stumbled over himself thanking her over and over again.

"Happy Christmas, Dobby," Hermione said. Her mind thrust forth memories she had of him, of the way Dobby had tried to save Hermione's life along with her friends and had taken a dagger to the chest in sacrifice.

Things would be different this time, Tom thought. His happy smile faded as he and Hermione and Dobby made their way out into Diagon Alley again. He watched Hermione walk southward with Dobby as the two of them chatted excitedly about Dobby's new wand.

Things were different here, he thought. This wasn't the world she had left behind. He wasn't the monster she had known. This was a different somewhere, and they were together here, and he was going to do things properly.

Dobby contentedly used his wand to Conjure some red Poinsettias for Hermione, handing them over with a gleeful smile upon his face as Hermione laughed and nodded. Tom smiled a little, thinking once more that he just didn't care about the Purebloods' concerned letters.

* * *

_March 1953_

"And the Wimbourne Wasps are undefeated this season, winning every single match by at least three hundred points," Abraxas Malfoy was saying. "They're completely unstoppable. They score goal after goal, and then their Seeker - Brenna Keough - inevitably catches the Golden Snitch. She is, by far, the best Seeker in the League. She's thrilling to watch. Sometimes she holds off on catching the Snitch until Wimbourne have run up the score, which I've chided her on because it's a bit unsportsmanlike, but she's just so damned _good_, so -"

"Sounds like you've got a bit of a crush on her," Tom smirked. Abraxas shook his head and scoffed.

"I've got Perla, sir, and she's more than enough for me. In fact… you're the first I'm telling this news to, including our families. But… Perla is nine weeks along."

He grinned widely, and Tom felt his eyebrows go up. He smiled at Abraxas and drummed his fingertips on the desk.

"Babies, babies, all around," he said. "The Lestranges. Cygnus and Druella expecting their second. Hermione, of course. Now you and Perla. This is absolutely marvelous. And you and Perla have been waiting for so long. You've both earned this."

Abraxas crossed his arms over his chest and said, "It wasn't for lack of trying. Not to be crass. But needless to say, sir, we are completely over the moon about this."

"Lucius." Tom flicked his eyes to the quill on his desk, an elegant black feather in a silver holder. Abraxas was quiet, until Tom raised his eyes and nodded. "A boy, Lucius."

Abraxas' cheeks coloured. "That's the name I have in mind for a boy, yes."

"Mmm. I do believe you'll get your wish." Tom said no more than that. He twirled his wedding finger on his left hand and murmured, "So the Wimbourne Wasps are likely to win it all this year?"

"Can't see as there's anyone to challenge them, sir," Abraxas said quietly. "The only concern is that Quidditch is a bit dull this year, because no one is sufficiently competitive with Wimbourne."

Hermione had told Tom about Viktor Krum, the Seeker who had dominated worldwide Quidditch in her youth. Tom sighed and asked,

"Any chance of moving Keough to another team next year? At least to shake up the fan base?"

"I can encourage other teams to offer her a more enticing salary," Abraxas confirmed, "but she grew up a Stinger. She's pleased to be playing for Wimbourne."

"Hmm." Tom pinched his lips. "Do what you can, under the table, to get her to move to the Holyhead Harpies. Surely there's something to be said for Britain's greatest Seeker to be playing on an all-female squad. It's good for the game, too, isn't it? To have people rallying round an all-witches' team? To have the Harpies win next year? Do what you can."

"Yes, sir." Abraxas nodded. "I'll get straight on that. May I ask, how is Madam Granger holding up these days?"

"She's tired," Tom admitted. "She's still working full days. Fuller than full. I tried to insist she move to a part-time schedule, but she wouldn't hear of it. She rises early in the morning, eats breakfast, and is in the office until after sundown. I expect she'll work straight up until the day the baby comes. But I'll be quite certain she takes a good, long break after that. She'll want to stay home with him, anyway."

He froze then, for he realised he'd said _him_. He gulped, and Abraxas gave him a strange look. He nodded and smiled weakly.

"Do give her my best," he said.

"And give Perla ours," Tom said. "Let me know when it would be appropriate to send a gift."

"Thank you kindly, Minister." Abraxas rose from his chair. "I'll get working on the Quidditch matters straight away."

"How is that House-Elf of yours?" Tom blurted, for the Malfoys had been given Punkie months earlier and much legislation had been passed since then. Abraxas quirked up half his mouth and said,

"Punkie refuses to accept monetary compensation. We insisted that it's the law now, that she's to be paid at least two Sickles a week, but she just keeps it all in a chest and says it's for the baby we'll have."

"Oh." Tom frowned. "That's… kind of her."

"She never takes her leisure time, either," Abraxas noted. "We told her that she's meant to have one afternoon off per week, but she just won't take it. Works all the time. She does like her wand; she was very grateful for it and says it allows her to do her work for us more effectively. You were right about that."

"Hmm. Nott's elf accidentally lit his curtains on fire with its wand," Tom sighed. "That was a mess. Luckily, there's a provision in the law that Elves who are dangerous can have their wands confiscated, so. I rather made Hermione put that bit in. Marriage is all compromise, eh?"

"I'm sure Madam Granger is very grateful that her passion for House-Elf welfare has become so thoroughly enshrined into law," Abraxas said, but when Tom didn't reply, Abraxas visibly gulped and bowed his head. "I've overstepped."

"No, it's… these are things that ought to matter to all of us," Tom said. "For some reason, they matter more to Hermione. She's better than the rest of us."

"Indeed." Abraxas smiled a little and raised his eyes. "I often think the same of Perla. That she makes me a better wizard. How lucky we are, Minister, aren't we?"

"Lucky are we," Tom nodded. "Good day, Abraxas."

Abraxas turned and opened the door, striding out of the office and pulling the door shut behind him.

**Author's Note: Fair warning that there are just a few chapters remaining in this story! When this story is done, I will write the sequel for ** _ **Revision and Rescript** _ **. Thank you so much for reading and reviewing.**


	19. Shepherd

_29 April 1953_

Hermione paced around the parlour and nibbled on a scone. Tom sat on the divan with one foot crossed over his knee, drumming his fingers on the velvet beside him.

"I dunno if I'm going to make it," Hermione whimpered. "The newspaper article said that Shepherd was born on the 30th of April. That's tomorrow. How am I supposed to -"

"Patience, Hermione," Tom sighed. "You've made it this far. Tell me how your last day of work was."

Hermione gulped down a bite of scone and glanced down to the bag she'd packed to take to St Mungo's. She reached for the glass of water she had on the low table in the centre of the parlour, and she picked it up to sip.

"Gabriella Huffington is taking over the department until I come back," Hermione said. "I'm planning on taking six months. Gabriella will handle things just fine. I told her that she's welcome to send me owls every now and then."

"I want you focusing on the baby," Tom said. "Even I'm taking some time."

"Yes. Of course. I just don't like being idle," Hermione huffed. Tom scowled.

"Idle," he repeated. "There's nothing idle about motherhood, Hermione."

"N-No, of course not. It's just… I've worked so hard on everything," Hermione said. "I've worked so hard to get all the legislation passed for Ghosts, for Merpeople, for House-Elves. Dobby has promised to visit often."

"I'm sure he'll be here all the time," Tom smiled. "I'm sure he'll bring gifts for the baby."

"That's what he said," Hermione grinned. "He said that he would…"

She paused then, and she suddenly clutched at her belly. She buckled over and cried out with a wretched rip of pain. She stamped her foot and suddenly collapsed onto her hands on the arm of the chair nearby, and Tom flew to his feet. Hermione whined and panted quickly. Tom rushed over to Hermione and put his hand between her shoulder blades.

"Hermione," he asked quietly, "have you ever felt anything like that before?"

She didn't answer. She just leaned heavily onto the chair and whimpered, rocking back and forth a little. After a very long while, she slowly stood and whispered,

"Well, that's labour, then."

"We need to start timing them." Tom felt his cheeks go hot. It was time. The baby was coming. He was going to be a father. She was going to be a mother. "Gronky! Gronky!"

The House-Elf came rushing into the room, skittering on the ground as Tom called out,

"We're going to get Madam Hermione into a nice warm shower, Gronky. Help me."

"I can do it myself." Hermione waddled toward the bathroom, cradling her belly and huffing breathlessly. Tom followed her through the bedroom and into the shiny bathroom, helping her peel off her work robes. Tom said over his shoulder,

"Gronky, get Madam's comfortable nightgown and dressing-gown ready so that when we go to St Mungo's, she's dressed in something cosy."

"Yes, Minister," Gronky affirmed. Tom guided Hermione into the shower and turned on the taps. He helped her find a good temperature, and he stood outside as she shut the door and then began whining again.

"Hermione?" Tom called, but all he got in reply was a long, low groan of pain. Her cry went out for a very long time. Tom opened the door and glanced at his watch. He frowned and eyed Hermione as her wet hair fell before her eyes. She held her belly in her hands and then whimpered softly. She finally looked up and puffed,

"I've lost… my… my water's broken."

"Has it?" Tom asked weakly. "Things are moving rather quickly, it would seem."

"Five minutes apart for a minute apiece. That's when we're meant to go in," Hermione reminded him. Tom nodded. He let her stay in the shower through four more contractions, and then she seemed so weak on her legs that he insisted she come out of the shower and walk around the townhouse with him. He got her bundled in a nightgown and velvet dressing-gown, and he held her hand as he encouraged her to sip water and walk with him. Every now and then she'd stop and buckle over in pain for a solid minute, moaning and hissing in agony. Tom kept timing things with his pocket-watch. They were seven minutes apart now, lasting about forty-five seconds. After awhile, Hermione whispered weakly,

"I'd like to lie down now."

"Of course," Tom replied. He guided her into the bedroom and spooned with her, cradling her belly in his hand and feeling the incredible tightness in her abdomen every time she buckled into a contraction. She sobbed into the pillow and squeezed at his hand, and she frantically gasped,

"Oh, it hurts so badly. I can't think during them now."

"They're lasting a minute now. Six minutes apart. Nearly there." Tom kissed at Hermione's cheek. "I'm the MInister for Magic. I think we should go in now."

"Five minutes," Hermione reminded him. "The Healer said to come in at five minutes."

"We can go in now," Tom said. "You saw the newspaper article. Shepherd's born tomorrow. It's nearly ten o'clock now. They can make you comfortable, Hermione."

"I can do this." He watched tears wriggle out of her eyes and leak onto the pillow. Her fingers suddenly convulsed on the blankets and she screamed, then went silent and tightened up. Tom looked at his pocket-watch. Five minutes. It had been five minutes since the last contraction.

He let her have three more contractions at five minutes apart, lasting a minute each, before he finally insisted,

"All right. We're going in now."

"Yes, all right," Hermione panted, and Tom flung himself from the bed. He rushed out to the parlour and slung the leather Extended bag for the hospital over his shoulder.

"Gronky. We'll be back. Get everything for the baby moved into the bedroom," Tom said. Gronky appeared before Tom, the Elf's eyes welling heavily.

"Gronky is most pleased, Minister," Gronky said thickly. "Gronky can not wait to meet the child, to help care for the child, Minister. Gronky will be a good Elf for the Minister's growing family, sir."

"Yes. Of course. Thank you, Gronky." Tom nodded. He stalked away, but Gronky called,

"Minister! Something came by owl five minutes ago. Gronky did not wish to bother you whilst Madam was in labour, Minister. I have it here, sir."

Tom whirled over his shoulder, unable to imagine what on Earth could possibly be important enough to trouble him when his wife was about to give birth. He went to Gronky and snatched the envelope out of Gronky's hand. He frowned a little as he read the unfamiliar script on the front.

_Minister for Magic Tom Marvolo Riddle,_ it read simply, _and Madam Hermione Granger._

Tom tore open the envelope and pulled open the letter inside. He opened the letter and read quickly as Hermione cried out loudly from the bedroom. His heart thrummed in his chest as he read and read again.

_Dear Father,_

_I do not care to give myself too much credit. I like to think of myself as a humble wizard. But here I am, looking back upon years in which you and Mum have devoted yourselves wholeheartedly to the welfare and betterment of the Magical world. And you've always said that you became more determined than ever the day I was born. Allow me to reinforce to you how important that devotion will be for us all. Mum came to you for a reason. We're all precisely where we ought to be._

_With love,_

_Shepherd_

"Tom! We need to go right now! Now! Please!" Hermione was calling desperately from the bedroom. Tom rushed in there, tucking the letter into his robes. He helped heave Hermione out of the bed, blinking away tears and feeling his head whirl. His world was upside-down. But everything was right. He took hold of Hermione's hands and whispered in her ear that she was going to be fine, and he Disapparated with her, coming to inside the foyer of St Mungo's Hospital.

* * *

"Breathe, breathe, breathe, breathe, breathe."

"Hermione. I _love_ you. You are so strong." Tom supported her head with his hand beneath her pillow, and as she tossed her head back and sobbed in agony, her glazed eyes flicked toward him and her mouth fell open. She shook her head and insisted,

"I can't."

"Yes, you absolutely can." Tom nodded vigorously. He'd stripped down to a white dress shirt and had rolled up his sleeves, loosening his tie and having mussed his hair. He was a mess, but he didn't care. It was four in the morning. Hermione had laboured and transitioned and was now pushing, and she'd been doing for an hour. They'd given her potions for the pain, but the effort was still immense. The Mediwitch in crimson robes between Hermione's robes said firmly,

"Another big push. Ready? Three, two, one… _push._"

Hermione bore down and ground her teeth, her chin driving against her chest and her face going the colour of a beetroot. She wrenched so hard at Tom's hand that he thought she'd tear his fingers off, but he couldn't care one bit. He kissed at her forehead and murmured into her ear,

"Good job. Yes. Well done. Keep going. Push."

"Keep pushing," the Mediwitch droned, and Hermione shrieked with the effort. Suddenly the Mediwitch exclaimed,

"The baby is crowning! I can see the head! Another push in three, two, one… push! Push, Madam Granger, push!"

Hermione yelled so loudly then that Tom had to try not to recoil. Instead he burrowed his face into Hermione's shoulder and huffed against her ear,

"Well done. You can do this, Hermione. I love you. I _love_ you."

There were three more pushes, and then suddenly there was a great noise, a strange squawking sound Tom had never heard before. He sprang up from Hermione's shoulder and gasped. Tears came unbidden to his eyes almost at once, on instinct, as he realised just what he was hearing.

And then he saw him.

Hermione sobbed and clasped her hands to her eyes. "That… is the most beautiful sound… I have ever heard…" she whispered frantically.

"Your baby boy, Minister. Madam Granger." The Mediwitch held up a bare newborn covered in purple-red slime. The baby was shrieking and writhing. "What shall he be called?"

"His name is Shepherd," Hermione said, crying hoarsely as she stared at the baby. "Shepherd Gaunt Riddle."

The Mediwitch Scoured the baby clean and then placed him on a Magical scale before wrapping him in a Warmed blanket. Meanwhile, another Mediwitch tended to Hermione, working to Vanish the afterbirth and then Scour up the great bloody mess of the birthing process. A third Mediwitch cast charms over Hermione to cleanse her of her sweat and grime, and made her sip some water. Finally, the baby was brought over, and Hermione held out her shaking arms as she asked,

"Shall I feed him straight away?"

Tom watched in fascination as one of the Mediwitches helped Hermione get Shepherd latched onto a breast and encourage him to suckle. Hermione stared down at Shepherd and pet his hair, which was black and very fuzzy, sticking straight out from his head in a wispy halo.

"Ooh, look at his precious hair," Hermione purred. "He's lovely."

"He's perfect," Tom said a bit numbly. He thought of the letter Shepherd had sent him from the future, and he gulped. There would be a good time to show that to Hermione, he thought. Not right this moment. Right this moment, she needed to treasure Shepherd. The three of them just needed to be together.

Everything else could wait.

* * *

"How are you two doing?" Tom came walking into the parlour to find Hermione nursing Shepherd on the divan. She looked a bit wan, a bit tired, but she smiled peacefully and insisted,

"He's the best baby who's ever lived."

"Do you hear that, Shepherd?" Tom came and pet Shepherd's fuzzy black hair. "Your mum thinks quite highly of you. I've got the _Daily Prophet, _Hermione. Front-page news."

He held up the newspaper, and Hermione chewed her lip as she studied the article that they'd been shown in 1947. There it was, word for word, exactly as Madam Mutatia had shown them.

_MINISTER FOR MAGIC TOM RIDDLE WELCOMES FIRST CHILD._

_Tom Riddle, who has been lauded as one of the most effective and revolutionary Ministers for Magic despite his astonishing youth, has welcomed his first child with his wife, Hermione Granger. Madam Granger, Head of the Department for the Control and Regulation of Magical Creatures, is known for being the mind behind all of the recent legislation aimed at improving the welfare of House-Elves and strengthening relations between wizards and Beings._

_The baby, a boy called Shepherd Riddle, was delivered safely of Madam Granger at St Mungo's Hospital on the 30th of April. Both mother and child are said to be doing quite well. Minister Riddle delivered the following statement to the Daily Prophet._

_'My wife Hermione and I are exceedingly grateful for the outpouring of support we have received since the birth of our wonderful son, Shepherd Riddle. We are overjoyed to be parents. Rest assured that I shall be resuming my duties as Minister shortly, but as I take a brief paternity leave, wizarding Britain is in capable hands.'_

_The staff of the Daily Prophet wish Minister Riddle and Madam Granger every health and happiness and congratulate them most heartily on the birth of their son._

Tom set the newspaper down on the low table and came to sit on the divan beside Hermione and Shepherd. Hermione pulled Shepherd off her chest and brought him up to the cloth over her shoulder. His tiny face rested on her chest, and Tom stroked at the baby's halo of black hair. He sighed and murmured,

"It's all going to be marvelous."

Hermione reached to cup Tom's jaw in her hand. She brought his face nearer to his until he leaned over Shepherd to kiss her. His lips touched hers, and she whispered against him,

"We're together. All of us."

**THE END**

**Author's Note: Thank you so much for reading this sequel to **_**Inimica, Amator. **_**My next work, **_**Convict and Construct, **_**will be a sequel to my Tomione fic **_**Revision and Rescript.**_ **I appreciate your readership.**


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